


Shadow of the Bookman: Volume Four

by ButterflyGhost



Series: Shadow of the Bookman [4]
Category: due South
Genre: Alcoholism, Friendship, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 23:32:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/pseuds/ButterflyGhost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of Vegas Ray struggles to regain control of his life, and let go of the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Ray knew it was over the day he raised his fist to Stella. He stood at the baggage claim in O'Hare some time later and replayed that moment over and over in his head. As he waited for his luggage, he wondered what the hell had happened to his life.

 

 _It could be worse. I could have stayed._ At least Stella had the sense to kick him out – and he had the sense to go. He sighed, and wiped his head with his free hand. The roughness of the palm grated against his bald pate and crew cut. He felt rough all over, unshaven, crumpled and sweaty. How the hell had he let his life turn into this?

 

Still – he was home now. Time to make a fresh start.

 

Damn it – he couldn’t see his luggage anywhere. He bit his tongue, and turned on his heel, looking for an employee to complain to, then stopped abruptly, shocked.

 

“Long time no see,” Johnny said with a rueful smile.

 

Ray said nothing, started walking swiftly down the concourse. He would come back for the damn luggage – or leave it. Right now he didn’t care. All he wanted was to put distance between himself and the man who, for a year, had been his closest ally and nearest thing to a friend.

 

Johnny quickened his pace to keep up with him. “I’m sorry to just turn up like this, but we have to talk –”

 

“I don’t want to talk,” Ray said, shouldering his way through the crowd. “Leave me alone.”

 

“This is important –”

 

“So’s my life. You people fucked it up badly enough the first time. There’s nothing you can say to me.”

 

“Ray –”

 

“That’s Lieutenant Vecchio to you.”

 

“Lieutenant.” Johnny looked pained for a moment, then his face turned bland and smooth. “We really do need to talk, and you’re the only person for the job.”

 

“That’s what you said last time.”

 

“It was true then as well. But this time, we won’t be taking you from your home, we’ll just ask you to –”

 

“Ask me nothing. I’m out of here.” Jaw clenched and eyes fierce, Ray pushed his way through the crush. ~~~~

“Hey there, Ray!” Frannie, standing on tiptoes, waving at him from the other side of the turnstiles. He hadn’t told anyone he was coming today – what was she doing here? _As if things weren’t bad enough…_

_Oh. Of course. Stella must have called them._

 

“Hey, Sis,” he said, smiling despite himself as she squeezed through the crowd. Thank God she hadn’t brought Ma – she’d have made good on her threat to kill Johnny if she’d seen him. Ray muffled Frannie up in a big hug and kissed her on the top of her head.

 

“Better make myself scarce,” the FBI agent said.

 

“Go away, I’m with my sister.”

 

“Who’s that you were talking to?” Frannie asked, looking around as she stepped back from the hug. Ray glared at Johnnie’s back as the agent moved away.

 

“Nobody you know.”

 

“Some nosey parker,” she sniffed as they stepped onto the escalator. “So, anyway – Ma’s really angry with you. You should have said you were coming home today. Nobody was expecting you. She’s been trying to get your room ready for you, and when I left she was in the kitchen staring at the cupboards doing this.” Frannie stopped talking for a moment, threw her hands up dramatically in the air and flapped them, pulling a face so comically like Ma’s that Ray laughed out loud. _“_ _Madre di Dio..._ _Non c'è cibo in casa._ To hear her talk, we’ve got no food in the house – so when you get there it will be three courses, at least.”

 

“Actually, Frannie… I’m not coming home today.”

 

“You’re not? Where are you staying?” She raised her eyebrows, as though revelation had finally dawned. “Of course! That’s what it is… Who are you staying with? Is that why Stella kicked you out?”

 

“I wasn’t having an affair.”

 

“So she was?”

 

Less than five minutes, and he was remembering why he’d left Chicago in the first place. “It wasn’t her fault.”

 

“So, what happened?”

 

“It’s none of your damn business!” Frannie blinked hard. Around them other disembarking passengers stared at him, then stared away. He shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to ignore them, until the descent was finished and he and Frannie were able to get off the escalator.

 

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just – I don’t want to talk about it. And you know what? It really is none of your business anyway.”

 

“Okay, okay. I was worried, that’s all. It’s all been so sudden. Jeez. So, where are you staying?”

 

“I’m renting a place. And…” he looked ostentatiously at his watch. “Right now I’m late for a meeting,” he lied. “Thanks for coming to meet me, but I gotta go.”

 

“Is that all you brought with you?” She nodded at his carry-on.

 

“No, but –”

 

She sighed. “Okay. You must be really late if you abandoned your suits. I’ll go get ‘em. You go to your meeting. And then call us, so we know you’re okay. Ma’s worried. We all are.”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“Whatever you say, Bro.” Her face softened, and she stood on tiptoe again, pecked a kiss on his nose. “You come and pick up your stuff later, okay?”

 

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

 

“Tomorrow?” She shook her head. “Tomorrow. Ma’s gonna have kittens.” She walked off tutting as Ray made his way to a cab, and his imaginary meeting.

~*~

 

So, what the hell did Johnny want? Now that Ray was alone, in his sparsely furnished, but spacious apartment, he had nothing to do but think. He stared out the window at the heaping snow. Nearly two years after Vegas, one year after the trial, and he hadn’t heard a peep out of the Feds since just after Sal’s sentencing. Sure there were the psychiatric meetings he had to attend after he got out of hospital the second time, but he’d managed to get through them without giving anything away. After his last mandatory meeting he skipped to Florida, and ‘bye bye FBI.’

 

So why now? Why was Johnny approaching him now? It wasn’t just for old time’s sake.

 

The television wasn’t working, and the central heating hadn’t kicked in yet. Ray toed his way out of his shoes, then remembered he didn’t have his slippers. Damn it. He poured himself another drink, and sat on the bed. He hadn’t made it yet – he hadn’t thought of buying bedding when he rented the place, and the stuff he’d boxed up and sent from Florida hadn’t arrived yet. Something else he’d have to do soon. Make this place presentable. The bed was still comfortable though – more comfortable than sleeping in a bed with an angry woman and a frosty back. More comfortable than the couch he’d been sleeping on for the last month.

 

_Damn, I gotta stop thinking about Stella._

 

 _Television,_ he thought. _Sports channel – cure for everything…_ He reached out for the remote control, then remembered that the cable hadn’t been switched on yet. _Great._ The television would have been no distraction anyway. He put his hand in his jacket pocket and sighed.

 

Benny’s compass.

 

He could afford a long distance call. What time was it in Canada?

 

_Who cares?_

 

“Hey, Benny.”

 

“Ray!” As always Benny sounded delighted to hear from him, and a little surprised. It was his own fault, really. He didn’t talk to Benny nearly as often as he should – not that Benny was any better at remembering to call. “How are you doing?”

 

“Uh… well, I guess you haven’t heard yet. Uhm…” Shit. How come Stella hadn’t told Kowalski? Or at least Kowalski’s Mom? That was one of the problems in their marriage – how much baggage they each had about Stella’s ex. Half the time they were in bed together and Stella moaned ‘Ray,’ he’d wondered which one of them she was thinking about. He shook his head. Stupid shit to be thinking when he was talking to Benny. “Where’s Kowalski?” he asked, his voice a little too sharp.

 

“Hmm… at the moment?” Benny’s voice took on a reserved quality – possibly expecting Ray to go off on a rant about Kowalski again. “Working.”

 

“Oh, yeah.” Ray grinned. Kowalski had come down in the world and was working as a mechanic on snowmobiles and engines. “So, where are you? I can’t hear any gunfire, or sirens, or helicopters, so I assume you’ve not stumbled on a vicious crime in progress?”

 

“No. Right now I’m driving back from the Reservation after talking to school children about the importance of maintaining public order and…”

 

“Yeah? That means you’re driving while talking on your cell phone. Isn’t that dangerous?”

 

“Not really. I’m driving slowly –”

 

Ray chortled. “Of course you are.”

 

Benny’s voice continued, comfortingly, over the crackle of distance. “There’s nothing on the road apart from… well… snow, which I’m used to.”

 

“Snow.” Ray looked out the window and grimaced. “We got plenty of that here too.” Chicago snow though – off-grey instead of pure Canada white. “I tell you, it’s not exactly beach weather here either.” He chuckled. “Can’t believe you’re breaking the law.”

 

“I’m not breaking the law. It’s a hands free set.”

 

“Hands free? Wow. The RCMP get you all the mod cons, don’t they?”

 

Benny chuckled. “That’s exactly what Ray said, Ray.”

 

Ray felt himself scowl instinctively at Fraser’s use of Kowalski’s name – still, what the hell did he expect Benny to call the man? The whole situation between Benny and Kowalski had taken some getting used to, and Ray still wasn’t comfortable with the idea.

 

Benny said something. Ray blinked. He’d missed it. “Sorry, what did you say?”

 

“I asked, what haven’t I heard?”

 

“Ah.” Shit. Trust Fraser not to forget the beginning of the conversation. Ray hadn’t wanted to be the one to break this news. He’d only called Fraser because he wanted a friendly voice on the phone – not an autopsy of his second failed marriage.

 

 _Spit it out,_ he told himself, and took a long swallow of his drink. He was pretty sure Benny heard it.

 

“Okay. Me and Stella split up.”

 

“Oh, Ray. I’m sorry to hear that –”

 

“Yeah, yeah. And I’m back in Chicago, and I’m going back to work at the District.”

 

“Oh.” Benny sounded perplexed. “They already have a Lieutenant.”

 

“Welsh called in a favour. He’s retiring, thought of me.”

 

There was silence for a moment as Benny absorbed the news. “That’s a lot of change,” he said. “Are you alright?”

 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, Benny.” Ray glared at the bourbon, wondering if Benny could smell it or something. “Don’t go all Oprah on me, I got Frannie for that.”

 

“How is Francesca?” Benny said, with a smile in his voice. Ray closed his eyes, grateful that his friend had given him a chance to talk about something else.

 

“She’s… very Frannie. I saw her at the airport. She’s still… you know. Pink.”

 

“And how are the twins?”

 

“I don’t know. Haven’t seen ‘em yet. Went straight from the airport to my place.” Wow, that felt weird, talking about ‘his place.’ It was nice enough, or would be when he’d unpacked, but a lot different from where he’d lived with Stella. He thought of their beachfront condo in Fort Lauderdale. Yeah, well, so it wasn’t just Kowalski who’d come down in the world, but Ray figured he deserved it.

 

“You haven’t seen your family yet?”

 

“Not yet. Jeez, what are you? A shrink? I wanted to wash the journey off before I saw my family. That okay with you, Fraser?”

 

“Yes,” Benny said curtly. “I don’t mean to pry.”

 

Oh great. Now he’d pissed Benny off. If he didn’t fix this it would be another two months before they next talked. He took another swallow of his drink, and didn’t care if Benny heard. “Look, I’m sorry for shouting. I just called ‘cause I wanted to hear an Inuit tale. Take my mind off things. Think you can do that? Talk crap for old time’s sake?”

 

There was a pause on the other side of the phone, as though Benny was considering options. To pry or not to pry… The moment passed. “Well,” Benny said. “Interestingly enough the Inuit have a story about…”

 

Ray closed his eyes and listened to his friend.

~*~                                                                                                                           

 

A hangover was not the best way to start the day. Not only that, but Ray was cold – he reached out for a blanket, then remembered that he had none. No wonder he was freezing his nuts off.

 

“Move your sorry ass,” Ray told himself and rolled off the bed. He’d fallen asleep with the telephone handset on his chest. It fell with a thump to the floor. On the table next to his bed was a mostly empty bottle of bourbon. Shit… He couldn’t remember the end of last night’s conversation. Benny was probably worried about him now, and he’d musta run up one hell of a phone bill. The battery was dead. Couldn’t be helped. He figured Benny would be too polite and Canadian to mention it – wasn’t as though Ray had ever done it before, and he sure as hell wasn’t planning another drunk phone call to Benny.

 

He brushed up, scrubbed up, changed into his one fresh suit, and headed off to the Twenty Seventh District for the first time in nearly two years.

 

A comforting wash of familiarity overwhelmed him as he stepped into the bullpen and saw the bustle and activity all around him. Cluttered desks and noticeboards, a scattering of new faces, and…

 

“Huey!”

 

“Hi there, Vecchio.” Jack grinned at him. “Guess I should call you ‘Lieutenant’ now.”

 

“Nah… ‘Boss’ is fine.” Ray winced, hearing himself say ‘boss.’ “Actually, scratch that. ‘Lieu.’ Don’t want you to sound like some mob goon. Speaking of goons, where’s your partner?”

 

“Tom? He’s on his break. Probably wrestling with the snack machine.”

 

Ray chuckled. He didn’t know Dewey that well, but he seemed alright, even if his personal hygiene left something to be desired. “Tell him ‘hello.’” Ray said. “I gotta go see Welsh now.”

 

“Wow,” Jack shook his head and punched his arm. “Lieutenant Vecchio. Who’d a thunk it?”

 

“Not me, that’s for sure.” Ray punched back. “See you later, Huey.”

 

“See ya.”

 

Welsh was standing with his back to him as Ray entered the office. Putting things in boxes. Holy shit. The place looked barren – less cluttered than it ever had been and impersonal. Ray had never really noticed before how much Welsh had made the place his own.

 

“Hello, Sir.” Ray knocked on the door frame to make his presence known.

 

Welsh turned, looking slightly startled, and put his box down. He had lost weight since Ray saw him last. Ray schooled himself not to show his shock at the change in his old boss. The skin on the man’s jowelled face hung loose and slack. Fuck… was the guy sick or something?

 

Welsh grunted, and gave a wry smile. “It’s not ‘Sir’ anymore. Just Harding.”

 

Ray shook his head. “You’ll always be Lieutenant to me.” Jeez, that sounded a bit mushy. He cleared his throat. Hell, might as well go with it. “Sir.”

 

Welsh raised his eyebrows, but ignored Ray’s uncharacteristic burst of sentimentality. “So, Lieutenant Vecchio. Sorry I don’t have more time to show you the ropes, but it’s not as though you’re a stranger to how this place works. Just keep on top of your paperwork. Don’t want the case files piling up on your table.”

 

“Oh, don’t worry, I got real good at paperwork in the last few years,” Ray said, with a trace of bitterness. Then, to lighten the mood and turn Welsh’s mind away from the Mafia thing he added, “Managing a bowling alley is more time consuming than you think.”

 

“Managing a bowling alley.” Welsh’s laugh was the same, a rumbling in his chest. “I never did figure that out.”

 

“You ever manage to, let me know.” Ray tried to smile, and felt a tightness in his throat. Shit – this was different. Talking to the boss… the Lieu… like they were equals.

 

“So. You got your schedule worked out?”

 

“Yup. Starting tomorrow.”

 

“Good, good.” Welsh let out a gusty sigh. “Thanks for pushing your flight up a week. Anyway… I’ve got all the paperwork up to date – for the first time ever I might add – and left notes for how to manage things. Nothing you can’t work out, but since I can’t be here, I thought it would help.”

 

Ray looked at Welsh closely. Not only had he lost weight, he looked tired. The bags under his eyes were darker. “Sir? Are you alright?”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Just getting old, that’s all. Riding desk is harder than you think.”

 

Ray snorted. “Well, that’s all the docs will okay me for these days. You know what doctors are like: somebody shoots you, they overreact.”

 

“Yeah.” Welsh gave a slightly rueful smile. “I know what doctors are like.” He coughed. “So. You coming to my retirement do tonight?”

 

Ray was about to say yes, when a wave of panic hit him, a tension in his chest. _What the fuck? Where did that come from?_ The thought of all those people that he hadn’t met in so long crowding round him, asking questions, and then him having to go into work the next day, having to be their boss…

 

“Nah… sorry, Sir. I just got back – gotta sort some things out. Visit Ma.” Yeah – that was the perfect excuse. Besides, he needed to get the family visit out of the way. “Don’t want to start work tomorrow morning with a hangover.”

 

“That would never do,” Welsh said, dryly. “Anyway. Let me show you how I file things in here…”

~*~

 

Not only had all the Grecos and every cousin a thousand times removed turned up to celebrate the return of Ray, it seemed like half of Little Tony’s classmates had decided to join the party. Business as usual then. Ma should just admit it, and open a trattoria. What with Frannie’s kids wailing and everybody talking at once, Ray couldn’t hear himself think for the noise. Fuck. He shouldn’t have come.

 

 

“Uncle Ray,” Little Tony – not so little now – was waving at him to get his attention. “Could you pass the radishes?”

 

 

Ray blinked. “Since when do you eat radishes?”

 

 

“Since he got a girlfriend,” Angelica said looking superior. Little Tony glared at his sister and made a fart noise, then looked pointedly at Willie – the only actual boyfriend at the dinner table. Willie tried not to laugh, and Ma threw up her hands, asking heaven what had she done to deserve such barbarian offspring.

 

 

“I do not have a girlfriend,” Little Tony scowled.

 

 

“You do. He does so.” One of the Greco girls looked spitefully at Little Tony, and started chanting, “’Tony’s got a girlfriend…’”

 

 

“Leave him alone,” Frannie said, flicking a napkin at the malicious cousin. “He has a friend who happens to be a girl.”

 

 

“A girl who likes radishes,” the cousin said. “A girl who eats like a rabbit. See, like this.” She started nibbling on a sliver of radish, showing her teeth, as though she was doing a Bugs Bunny impersonation.

 

 

“You’re just jealous,” another cousin said, and then Maria was defending her son, the girl’s mother was defending her daughter, and everyone was shouting.

 

 

Ray felt a bizarre sense of disconnect from the scene. He knew the girls who were arguing – but he couldn’t remember their names. _They’re Ma’s cousins’ kids,_ he thought, _they’re family. Why can’t I remember their names?_ The gossipy little bitch was Annette, maybe. Or… Allison. Lisa.

_Shit, I can’t remember._

 

 

“Raimondo,” Ma said. “Do you want more of the fish?”

 

 

Ray stared at her, for a moment, trying to figure out what she’d said. She’d said, ‘Raimondo,’ hadn’t she? He’d heard ‘Armando.’ He’d never noticed before how similar the two names were…

 

 

“Raimondo?”

 

 

“Yeah,” he said, looking at his plate. Whatever else was going on, at least he was eating a proper meal for the first time in a month. “Yeah, I’d like more fish.”

 

 

“So,” Big Tony’s sister said, leaning her chin on her hands and gazing at him, raptly. _Great, Ma just had to sit me next to Sylvie._ “Tell us all about it.”

 

 

“About what?”

 

 

“Your adventures undercover. Musta been exciting.”

 

 

 _What the fuck?_ Ray clenched his fists under the table. The volume had dropped – the kids had gone quiet for a minute. Waiting to hear something juicy, no doubt. _Stupid fucking cow,_ he thought, incredulous, then remembered to breath. He turned his face away from her, caught the look of concern in Maria’s eyes, and turned away from _that_. He nearly twisted out of his damn chair. _God, I knew I shouldn’t a come…_

 

 

Sylvie was still waiting for him to say something. That’s what people did in conversations. Someone said something, you were supposed to say something back… But if he said something now, it would be poisonous. He wanted to bitch slap her. _God, not at Ma’s table._ It wasn’t Sylvie’s fault that she wasn’t very bright. Made her brother look like Einstein.

 

 

And then, the man himself waded in. “Don’t be an idiot, Sylvie.” Big Tony insulted her for him. “It wasn’t exciting. He got hurt.” Tony looked at Ray, apologetically, one of those, ‘she’s my sister, what can you do?’ expressions. “Besides,” the big guy continued, to all listeners: “you know he can’t talk about it.”

 

 

Ray owed Tony a drink. The kids started muttering, disappointed, and Sylvie sighed, put a hand on his shoulder. Ray shrugged it off. _Shit,_ he thought. His fists were clenched again. He released them. _I forgot, she used to have a thing for me._

 

 

“Well,” Sylvie said, “we’re all terribly proud of you.”

 

 

 “Yeah,” he muttered, “thanks,” and dug into the fish.

 

 

He must have put a good wall up, because after a while people weren’t talking to him anymore. Frannie kept up the attempt for longer than most, but in the end she just smiled at him occasionally, as though checking in on him. _She’s grown up,_ he thought. Time was, she’d have never shut up.

 

 

He stopped trying to follow the various threads of conversation, focussing instead on the simplicity of cutting up food, putting it in his mouth. Ma had made a beautiful meal, as usual. It was strange – he’d missed this kind of thing, but now he was here, it seemed so… distant. Different. The house was different of course – after the fire gutted the place Ma had everything completely redecorated from the insurance. New kitchen, new bathrooms. That damn rug in the living room finally gone –

 

 

And Ma was frailer, Frannie had kids and a part-time job at the station, Maria was more frazzled and tired. Angelica and Willie were practically adults, Vito was nearly four, and Little Tony wasn’t as star struck as he had been three years ago. He was getting pre-teenage jitters, and arguing with everyone. _A true Vecchio,_ Ray thought, and nearly smiled.

 

 

The family chatter wove around him and through him, echoing in his head, and it didn’t seem like English, or Italian at all. Just noise.

 

 

Last time he’d been at a family dinner like this, it had been Christmas Eve in Vegas. Sal had been in his living room, trying to stop the kids from opening their Christmas presents. Ray had spent the day in the kitchen with Marge – they had been cooking fish then as well. Obviously. Probably emptied the ocean of fish, when he thought of it, what with unnamed cousins and hangers-on turning up, demanding sustenance. Not Ray’s actual cousins, and even Sal didn’t like these guys… Fucking mobster wannabes…

 

 

Ray had borrowed some of Ma’s ideas for the actual family meal. He’d been slicing and soaking the fish, three days before anyone had to eat it, just like Ma  would do, trimmed off all the crap – ‘ _no yellow bits, what the hell was Nero thinking when he bought this shit, holy crap, Armando has more money than God, and Ma, God love her forever, could do better down the open market.’_ Ma would have been proud of him. He spent the day cooking like a crazy guy, so, when the groupies departed he could make a proper meal with his… with Armando’s family. What was left of it.

 

 

After the kids had gone to bed, Sal got uncharacteristically drunk, and Ray joined him. They didn’t talk about Jackie.

 

 

And then it was Christmas morning, and Armando’s children weren’t there, nor his wife, but even so – children were children, and those three together made one hell of a noise.

 

 

Frannie’s babies, Maria’s kids, Little Tony’s friends, all the family at Ma’s table… they were making one hell of a noise.

 

 

“Mando.” Ray looked up, and Sal was sitting across from him, smiling. “You want more sauce?”

 

 

Ray stared. _It can’t be Sal’s ghost, it can’t be..._

 

 

“Ray?” Big Tony was looking at him, puzzled. “Did you hear me? I asked if you wanted more sauce.”

 

 

“No,” Ray stuttered. “No, I… oh fuck this.” He stood, abruptly, flinging his cutlery onto his plate. He’d had enough of this. He stared at his suddenly silent family, then turned on his heel and made for the door. Chairs were scraped back, legs moved out of the way as he pushed rapidly through. His mouth was dry, his heart beating too hard in his chest. His fists were clenched again, and he wanted to pound… something.

 

 

 

“Raimondo,” Ma’s voice, stern. Shit, he should have guessed it. _You can’t get away from anyone in this house._

 

 

“What?” he snapped.

 

 

“What do you think you’re doing, cursing at the table and walking out on people?”

 

 

“I’m thinking I’m fucking jetlagged, and people should mind their own goddamn business.” He turned and glared at Ma. “Capisce?”

 

 

“What?” Ma went pale but held her ground, more angry than scared. “I won’t have language like that in my house. What is wrong with you?” Ray stared at her, suddenly confused.

 

 

“I don’t know,” he said. “I mean, he couldn’t be there. He’s not even dead yet.”

 

 

She tilted her head sideways, birdlike, assessing him. “Son,” she pointed out, “you’re not making sense.” Her face went tight, accusing. “Have you been drinking?”

 

 

“No,” he said. “Like I’d come here drunk.” He took a few steadying breaths. Fuck’s sake. Where did he get away talking to Ma like that? She wasn’t a mob boss. He made an effort, and backed down. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to spoil things.”

 

 

“Well, you did.” As always, she told it to him straight. “Are you coming back through, or do I have to make an excuse for you?”

 

 

Ray’s patience snapped, and he raised his hand as though to smack her. “Make a fucking excuse,” he snarled at her suddenly frightened face. “I’m getting my coat.”

 

 

Ma stepped aside as he swept past, saying nothing. God… he’d nearly hit her. _Yeah, well. Your son’s a monster, you’ll have to get used to it._

 

 

~*~

 

The moment Ray stepped into his apartment, he saw Johnny sitting on his couch.

 

“Oh for God’s sake.” He dropped his luggage by the door. “You people are un-fucking-believable. I told you at the airport that I wasn’t interested.”

 

“I know.” Johnny stood, and shuffled a little, obviously uncomfortable. “But I still have to ask.”

 

“You have to break into my apartment?”

 

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” Johnny flashed a smile. “Can’t I just visit?”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

Johnny sighed. “Look, I’m sorry. But you know what they’re like. They won’t let go of it.”

 

“They won’t let go of me, more like.” Ray shrugged his way out of his coat, and hung it up carefully on a hanger by the door. He wasn’t going to show the Feds that they’d rattled him – he’d made a mistake yesterday at the airport by freaking out, and he wasn’t about to repeat it. Jeez, they’d got so far under his skin that he’d treated his own mother like shit. By the time he’d calmed down enough to think straight he smelled of whiskey, so he couldn’t go back home to apologise to her. “Go on then.” He turned to Johnny and folded his arms across his chest. “What is it? You’ll never go till you’ve told me.”

 

Johnny looked relieved. “This isn’t like the last gig – it’s not an undercover thing. But it is top secret.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. I kinda figured that when you broke into my apartment.”

 

Johnny lifted one shoulder in a regretful, ‘what can you do?’ gesture. “You know that Frank Zuko’s been released?”

 

“Of course I know. You think I’m gonna start off work without knowing every case that’s been across the Lieu’s desk?” He’d known anyway – he’d been keeping an eye on what was going on in Chicago while he was away. The day Zuko was released Ray and Stella had one of their massive rows about nothing – he was pretty sure he’d started it – followed by a bout of makeup sex that fooled them both into thinking everything was okay. He shook his head at the memory, and glared at Johnny.

 

“Well, as you know,” Johnny said, cautiously, “the parole board think he’s a changed man.”

 

“Yeah, well. Historically speaking, parole boards are fucking morons.”

 

Johnny laughed a little, and rubbed the back of his neck, as though trying to figure out what to say next. “Anyway,” he continued. “The higher-ups might use different language, but they agree with you there. We need someone to covertly keep an eye on Zuko, make sure he’s not taking over the neighbourhood again.”

 

Ray gave a reluctant nod. That made sense – the mob scene had changed dramatically in Chicago since he’d been away. After the fall of Zuko, and then Warfield, the remaining Families were fractured – barely worthy of the name. Crews, really, rather than Families. That left a vacuum that a clever man could fill. Zuko might be that man. If the Feds played it right, they could crush the Mob in Chicago as they had in Vegas – if they played it wrong, they’d all be right back where they started. Stood to reason they’d need someone to keep an eye on Zuko.

 

“Why me?” Ray sank onto his couch, knowing the answer, and rubbed his face with his knuckled fists. “How many people have you got who could do this instead of me? I’m not the only guy you people have with mob experience.”

 

“They really want you for it.”

 

“They can want. I’m not right for the gig. You know it’s personal – when people get personal on the job they make mistakes.”

 

“Not if they’re properly supported. We supported you in Vegas, and we’ll support you here. It’s precisely because you’re personally invested that we need you – you won’t let anything go.”

 

Ray leant back on the couch, and stared up at the ceiling. _This is never gonna end,_ he thought. _When is it ever gonna end?_

Johnny sat on the couch next to him, waiting silently, as though he already knew that Ray was going to cave.

 

Ray closed his eyes. “Okay,” he said, finally admitting defeat. “I’ll do it.”


	2. Chapter 2

 

The last of the snow had finally melted, and the buds were on the trees. Somehow, Ray had missed the change in the seasons – it only hit him now as he walked across the parking lot to his Mustang and noticed bird shit on his windscreen. He looked up at the sky and scowled. Damn pigeons. He flung open the passenger side door and dumped his files, then dug around in the glove compartment for a cloth to wipe the mess off.

                                              

“Hey there, Bro.” Frannie’s cheerful voice called across the parking lot, piercing his headache. “Hold up – I need a ride.”

 

“How do you know where I’m going?”

 

“Oh, come on – you’ve finished work for the day. I figure you can at least swing by the house and say hello to Ma.”

 

Ray paused. He couldn’t tell his sister that he was going to stakeout Zuko – but he couldn’t keep putting off Ma. The family hadn’t forgiven him for being a no-show at his own birthday. Ma at least understood, partly. He didn’t celebrate his birthday anymore. But she was still hurt by his absence. He looked at his watch – he had time, really. At least he could spare his mother half an hour.

 

“Okay,” he conceded, sliding into the driver’s seat and making room for Frannie on the passenger side. “But I really can’t stay long,”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. ‘Busy’ again.” Frannie looked at him sideways and gave him a knowing glance. “So, spill. What’s her name?”

 

“There is no ‘she,’” Ray scowled. He was pretty much done with romance – at some point Frannie was going to get it through her thick skull and stop playing marriage counsellor. Once upon a time she’d have been trying to fix him up with one of her friends, but she was still friendly with Stella, and holding out hope they’d get back together.

 

As he’d expected, Frannie smiled, reassured by his denial. Ray shook his head, and started the car.

 

“So,” Frannie said, as they turned into North Octavia. “What _have_ you been doing?”

 

Before Ray could stop himself he said, “classified.”

 

“Oh.” That shut her up. He glanced at her sideways as he parked up outside the house.

 

“Sorry,” he added. Damn, he shouldn’t have told her that. Not only was it potentially an operative slipup, it had put a look of shock on her face that he wished wasn’t his fault.

 

He sighed. Too late to call the word back. At least he’d learned from the Vegas gig that she could keep a secret – she’d known he was undercover, and not told a soul. “Look, don’t tell anyone, okay?”

 

“This isn’t like that Mafia thing?” Frannie’s voice quavered.

 

“No.” Ray reached out and patted her hand. “Nothing like that. Just – you know.” He paused. No, she didn’t know. “It’s not dangerous,” he said, trying to soothe her. “It’s just really boring. I’m not undercover or anything like that.”

 

“You’re not going to get shot again?”

 

“I’m not planning on it.” He had no intention of getting shot. So long as Zuko never saw him he should be okay. And Ray was pretty damn good at hiding. “And I got backup,” he reassured her. “It’s not like I’m alone.”

 

“You had backup last time,” she pointed out.

 

“Frannie,” he said, losing patience. “I told you it was okay, didn’t I?”

 

“Okay,” she said, and turned her hand over to squeeze his. He withdrew it sharply. He was still conscious of the scars.

 

“Come on,” he said. “I gotta see Ma.” He realised as he said it that he’d made it sound like a chore, and he realised Frannie – probably the whole family – guessed that was how he saw the visits. But he was here now. No matter how frosty the reception – and he knew he deserved it – he was proving himself the dutiful son. _Should bring Ma flowers next time,_ he thought, as he had last time.

 

He squared his shoulders and steeled himself for the matriarchal kiss.

~*~

 

Ray was nearly asleep when Johnny turned up.

 

“Took your time,” he groused and rolled his shoulders, trying to get the stiffness out of them.

 

“Anything interesting?”

 

“Nope. Same as usual. He goes to the youth club, teaches the kids basketball, allegedly, and then he goes to a bar. Then he goes home, and as far as I can tell stays home.” Ray looked out of the apartment window, staring at Zuko’s house opposite. The Feds had rented a room to watch him from. “What do your guys out the back say?” Ray smiled thinly. “He’s not climbing over the garden fence is he?”

 

“Not as far as I know,” Johnny laughed. “Not that they’d tell me.”

 

“You don’t know that much, do you?”

 

“Well, they’re keeping me out of the loop on this one more than they did in Vegas. They reckon they can’t trust me to keep ‘need to know’ to myself around you.”

 

“Yeah, well.” Ray chuckled. “They got a point. You did let me in on a few things that you shouldn’t.”

 

“Right.” Johnny’s mouth quirked in a grin, as he sat on the stool next to Ray’s. “You got the watch?” he asked as he looked out the window.

 

“Yeah,” Ray said. “I got some pictures on it this time. He did have a couple of visitors – a priest, and one of the other parents at his daughter’s school. Looks innocent, but you know Zuko.”

 

“I do,” Johnny nodded, his lips tight. Ray removed his watch and left it on the window sill. He knew the Feds would do their thing, and the watch would be returned next day.

 

“Okay. I’m gonna make myself scarce. See you same time tomorrow?”

 

“Same time. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

 

“Okay. Tomorrow then.” Ray yawned until his jaw cracked. “Sorry – I’m like a zombie here.” He raised a hand in farewell, and left the echoing empty apartment.

 

_God,_ he thought. _I’m gonna have to ask ‘em for a vacation._ He was so tired he was wobbly, and he hadn’t even had a drink. It took him fifteen minutes to walk back to his car – not the Mustang, a pool car from the Two Seven – the Mustang was too distinctive. By the time he’d settled behind the wheel he was yawning so hard his face ached. How he could be this tired and this jazzed up on coffee was more than he could figure.

 

By the time he got home ‘jazzed up’ had taken over tired. He sighed, kicked his shoes off, and flung himself on the bed, flipped on the television. He was trying to cut down on the drinking, so there wasn’t any booze in the place to take the edge off. He got up – he supposed he could go to a twenty-four seven…

 

Nah. Not tonight. If he did that every night he’d have a problem. And he didn’t have a problem.

 

He made himself more coffee instead, and watched the women’s soccer.

~*~

 

“You getting anywhere on those carjackings?” Ray looked wearily at Huey and Dewey, wishing they weren’t a couple of clowns parading as cops. _They should ditch the day job and start a comedy club,_ he thought.

 

“Well, Sir –” Dewey spoke first. He seemed to find it easier to call Ray ‘Sir’ than Huey did. “We’re not sure they’re related –”

 

“Of course they’re related. They’re all happening at the exact same time of day, when the Soccer Moms are getting ready to pick up the kids.”

 

“Yes, but –”

 

“But nothing.” Ray shoved himself back on his rolling chair and glared at his detectives. “Just look at the evidence again, and find something. Understood?”

 

“Yes, Sir.” Dewey sounded apologetic.

 

“Yes, Sir.” Huey sounded sullen.

 

“Go on. Get out, and don’t come back till you’ve got something.”

 

The two men turned and left the room. Ray heard the bullpen fall silent as his door opened and shut. Fuck, now he knew how Welsh felt. No wonder the poor guy was always in such a bad mood. Beyond the door he could hear the chatter start up again. Talking about him, probably. _Fuck’s sake, why did I take this job?_ he wondered, for the thousandth time. _Someone shoulda told me you can never go home again._

 

He was sorting through the Briscoe case-files when the door opened again. He looked up to see Frannie stepping through, a stack of papers in the crook of one arm, and a cup of coffee in her other hand. He took the coffee gratefully, and pushed his files aside so that she could dump the paperwork.

 

“Thanks, Frannie,” he said, sipping at the coffee. That was one thing she’d changed for the better while he was away. This must be the only station in the country where the coffee was actually drinkable. He should put her to work on the snack machine.

 

“You alright, Bro?”

 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He winced. He wished she’d stop asking.

 

“Okay. Well, anyway. I just called to tell you, Elaine’s arrived.

 

Ray smiled. “Cool. Well, send her in. We’ll get her started.”

 

“Will do. Sorry about all that.” She nodded, pointing her chin at the paperwork.

 

“S’alright. Needs to be done. And those bozos out there aren’t gonna do it.”

 

She shook her head at him. “You gotta stop ragging on people, Ray.”

 

“Yeah, well. They should do their damn jobs.”

 

“Don’t you remember what it was like being on the shop floor?”

 

“Yeah. I was an asshole too. Doesn’t mean everyone else should be.” He made a flapping gesture with his hands, like Ma scooting the kids out of the kitchen. “Go on. Shoo. Send Elaine in.”

 

“Yes, Sir.” She snapped a smart salute, and stuck her tongue out at him. He looked down at his coffee, and managed not to snigger as she left the room.

 

“Sir?” He looked up from his coffee, and there was Elaine in the doorway, grinning.

                        

“Elaine!” He stood up, smiling, and crossed the room to hug her. Wow, that surprised him, but he was glad to see her. “You made detective.”

 

“You made Lieutenant.”

 

He glanced out at the bullpen, and raised an eyebrow. “You wanna swap?”

 

She laughed, then shuffled awkwardly. “So,” she said. “This is kinda weird.”

 

“Kinda, but it’s nice to see a friendly face round here.”

 

She frowned for a moment. “You got friends here.”

 

“Not as many as you’d think,” he said, folding his arms across his chest and staring out at the bullpen. He sighed, and resisted the urge to draw down the blind. He had to do that enough when the fucking Feds turned up. Wouldn’t do to give people even more to gossip about. “So, anyway,” he said, returning to duty. “Frannie will show you your desk. I’m afraid you gotta pair up with Simmons. Remember him?”

 

“Yeah,” she said. “He’s getting on a bit now, isn’t he?”

 

“Yeah,” Ray agreed. “And he’s kinda pissed that I been promoted over him,” he added, “and that he’s working with a rookie cop. Not that you’re a rookie anymore,” he added. “But if he’s an asshole, tell me, and I’ll tear him a new one.”

 

“I can look after myself, Boss,” she said, and grinned.

 

_Boss._

 

He felt his face go cold. “Yeah, yeah. You can.” He nodded abruptly. “Okay then. Dismissed.”

 

She looked startled, then nodded, and left the room. He sighed, returned to his desk, and dropped his head against the wood.

 

_Damn, I hate this job._

~*~

 

Spring had turned to summer, and the air conditioning at the Two Seven had stopped working. Ray sat next to a fan which stirred the air like soup, and thought of the dry heat of Vegas, Armando’s adobe mansion, and his big cool swimming pool. He shoulda used the damn thing when he had a chance. He closed his eyes. _What’s the weather doing up in Canada?_ He hadn’t spoken to Benny in weeks. Not his fault this time – he was always either working or on stakeout. But he missed his friend’s rambling conversations. He even missed being snide when Kowalski answered the phone instead of Benny.

 

_I need a damn social life,_ he thought, and tapped his pen on the desk top. _I need some fucking exercise. I sit here all day, then I sit on stakeout. No wonder I’m stressed…_

 

He’d talk to Benny tonight, he decided. Order some pizza, talk some shit –

 

The phone in his pocket rang, and he groaned. Only one person ever called this number.

 

“Hey Johnny.”

 

“Hi Ray. I know we said we had the stakeout covered tonight, but we got an operative down. You’ll have to cover.”

 

“Operative down?” Ray stood up, and went to the blinds. “What happened?”

 

“I can’t tell you that. I don’t even know myself, you know they tell me nothing.”

 

“Shit.” Ray pulled the blinds down, automatically. Okay, Johnny wasn’t in the room, but it was an automatic response now. “You think Zuko knows we’re on to him?”

 

“I don’t know.” Johnny’s frustration was evident in his voice. “I don’t think so – maybe.”

 

“Yeah, well that’s real reassuring.”

 

“Look. I’ll see you tonight,” Johnny said. “Don’t worry, I got you covered.”

 

“Bet the other agent thought that too.”

 

“We don’t know what happened,” Johnny pointed out. “Maybe he got hit by a bus.”

 

“Yeah, right.”

 

“Look, don’t panic –”

 

“Who’s panicking?”

 

“Okay, okay. So you’re not panicking. I’ll see you at nine.”

 

Nine. Shit. He never got a day off. He’d have to call Benny another time. “You know, I hate you guys.”

 

“I get that.” Johnny’s voice was mirthless as he hung up the phone.

~*~

 

By the time Ray finally got a day off he’d gone somewhere past exhaustion into a slightly floaty state of hyperawareness. Not the best time to visit the family, but he had to do it sometime. He’d stay for dinner, he decided on a whim. Try not to swear at people this time. It was going to be a small meal tonight anyway – Wednesday. So long as he avoided the weekend he might even manage to be semi-sociable in future. Eat with them once in a while. It was worth a try. He missed the family, almost as much sometimes as he had in Vegas, or Florida.

 

This time he remembered to bring Ma flowers. He bent his head to her kiss, and kissed her back on the forehead.

 

“Hey, Ma.”

 

“Hello, Raimondo. What beautiful flowers.” She smiled. “You’re staying for dinner today?”

 

“Yeah,” he smiled back at her, feeling more relaxed than he had in a while. “I’ll try to behave.”

 

She tutted disapprovingly at the reminder of his previous infraction, then pinched his cheek. “You make sure to eat,” she said. “You’re getting thin.”

 

He rolled his eyes. He heard that one enough from Frannie. “Yeah, Ma. I’m looking forward to it.”

 

And he was – but then the same thing happened that happened every time he visited. It was… uncomfortable. He sat in the living room of what was, legally, his own house, and felt like a guest.

 

Didn’t help that not a stick of furniture was the same as when he left, he thought, looking at the Sacred Heart of Jesus that Ma had replaced in the living room. The couch was new, upholstered with squeaky leather. It would be comfortable in another few years, but right now it made his butt and back sweaty. The air conditioning was better though – at least the air didn’t feel like soup.

 

Even so, by the time the kids were back from school, Ray had a headache from the heat, and was feeling nauseous. Little Tony ignored him completely – he was practically buzzing with excitement and dashed straight into the kitchen to bounce at Maria. He had a permission slip to sign up for afterschool hockey. Kid should have known better than to plead with a cranky Mom, but apparently he hadn’t learned the rules of the game yet. Maria was in a bad mood – she was working part time at the florists, and didn’t get on with her boss. Tony was doomed from the moment he opened his mouth. He started off asking nicely, but within ten minutes was whining. “Please, Mom? Everyone else is gonna do it, and Coach says I’m really good…”

 

 

“No.”

 

 

“Please.”

 

“You’ve got beautiful teeth, Tony. I don’t want you losing them because some kid doesn’t know how to hit a hockey puck right.”

 

“Please?”

 

“No.”

 

“Please, please, please?”

 

_That never works,_ Ray wanted to tell him. _Didn’t work with Ma, doesn’t work with Maria. Catch her when she doesn’t have a thousand jobs to do, then you’ll stand a chance._ He didn’t have the energy to get involved though. He sighed and started flicking through TV channels – not for something to watch, just for something to explain why he wasn’t talking.

 

Maria was angry now, and putting her foot down loudly. Ray could hear her, in the next room, raising her voice, and Tony declaring that she didn’t love him. “Go to your room,” she shouted, and Tony stomped off. “Fine! I was going anyway!”

 

_God, and he’s not even a teenager yet._

Halfway through whatever soap opera he wasn’t watching, Ma came in, vacuuming. He lifted his feet, and she grumbled. He didn’t pay attention.

 

Angelica and Willie were next to arrive, partway through a newscast. They were holding hands, until they saw him on the couch. Then, they put their hands behind their backs, looked furtive, and went somewhere else to do their young love romantic thing.

 

Sometime later Big Tony came in, with a sigh, still wearing his paint-stained overalls. _Maybe I could give up being Lieutenant, ask Tony if there’s a job at the factory…_ Ray smirked at the thought, shifted up the couch and handed over the remote control. Tony grunted his thanks, dropped gratefully onto the cushion next to Ray, and switched channels. They watched the sports report, and Tony talked about something or other, before falling asleep in front of the screen. Maria came in, tutted at her husband, turned off the television.

 

“Sorry, Ray,” she said, suddenly noticing him. “Were you watching that?”

 

“No.”

 

And then he sat and stared at the wall some, and then it was time to eat.

 

~*~

 

Thursday morning he was feeling brighter than he had done in a while. Despite his inner tension he’d eaten well at Ma’s, and slept well that night. First night in a while he’d slept through the night. He wasn’t quite sure what kept waking him – Stella told him he had nightmares, but he could never remember them. Maybe it was just the heat.

 

“Hey, Huey,” he said, in a good mood for once. Huey looked at him with a mildly puzzled expression on his face.

 

“Hey, Lieu.”

 

“You had the night-shift, yeah?”

 

“Yeah. Been a quiet night.”

 

“Yeah.” Ray smiled. “It’s always either complete mayhem or dull as ditch water. Know which I prefer.”

 

“Ditch water, Sir.”

 

Ray sighed. He missed the old banter, and hated the ‘Sir,’ and ‘Lieu…’ but then, he’d been the one who insisted on it. He couldn’t have two tiers of detectives, those who’d known him before calling him ‘Ray’ or ‘Vecchio,’ those who knew him later calling him ‘Lieutenant.’ Still, it stunk.

 

“Listen, why don’t you head off early? Elaine will be here soon, and if anything comes up I’ll handle it.”

 

“Oh… thank you, Sir.”

 

“You’re welcome.” Ray’s earlier feeling of contentment was eroding, a little bit chipped away by every ‘Sir’ and ‘Lieu’ he heard from Huey’s mouth. He wished he could chew the fat with him, go down to the cop’s bar after work and have a beer with the guys.

 

Not the done thing. He rolled his shoulders and made his way to his office. _Damn this place anyway._

 

When he stepped into his office he groaned. “Oh God.” He turned, wearily, shut the door and pulled down the blinds. Despite the earliness of the hour, Johnny was there, perched on his desk. “What is it now?”

 

“Sorry. They thought I should tell you what you missed last night.”

 

“I missed something last night?” Ray clenched his fists. Just his damn luck. His one night off, and there was a break in the case.

 

“Nothing big,” Johnny said, “but they think it might be significant.”

 

“Well then, how about you tell me?”

 

“Zuko had a visit from Hudson last night.”

 

“Not big?” Ray stared at Johnny, incredulous. “You’re kidding, right? Zuko has a meet with Hudson, and you think it’s not important?” Hudson had been one of Warfield’s captains – expected to be the next _capobastone,_ if things hadn’t gone south for Warfield and his entire op.

 

“You’re right,” Johnny admitted, and rubbed his forehead. He looked as tired as Ray felt. “Sorry. It looks like ‘they’,” he gestured at the ceiling with both thumbs, “were right.”

 

“Fuck.” Ray groaned and sat down, covering his face. This was too much – he couldn’t do it alone. Okay, so he knew the Feds were with him on this, but he _felt_ alone. “Where was the meet?”

 

“Irene’s grave,” Johnny said, and winced. “I’m really sorry.”

 

_I’m gonna kill the bastard,_ Ray thought, then tasted blood. He’d bitten his cheek. He wasn’t going to kill anyone ever again.

He was just about to say something – he didn’t know what – when the door swung open.

 

“Hi there, Lieu,” Elaine said, cheerfully. Normally her entrance made him smile. Her ‘Lieu’ had a touch of amused familiarity that didn’t feel like fingernails on a chalkboard – but now wasn’t the time.

 

“Can’t you see we’re busy here?” Ray flickered a glance at Johnny and raised his eyebrows significantly.

 

“Uh… Sorry.” Elaine looked at Johnny with a confused expression on her face. _Yeah well, you and me both, Elaine._ Ray sighed.

 

“Not your fault. When I’m done here I’ll come out and read the overnight reports. You got Jack’s desk till your partner comes in.”

 

“Yes, Sir.” There was a frown line between her eyes. “Are you alright?”

 

_Jeez, just what I need. Another woman worrying about me. In front of the Feds, no less._

 

“Fine,” he snapped. “Just busy.”

 

She nodded, briskly. “Sorry, Ray.” She bit her lip and corrected herself. “Sir. Sorry, Sir. I’ll see you later.”

 

“Yeah, see you later.”

 

The door closed behind her, and Ray turned his attention back to Johnny.

 

“You know,” he said, conversationally, “you guys are killing me.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I’m working two full-time jobs here. I gotta run the desk, and I’m on stakeout most nights watching Zuko. Now I find that he really is trying to get back his old territories, that he’s doing a deal with a prominent member of Warfield’s crew – and your guys aren't telling me squat.”

 

“Well, they’re not telling me anything either –”

 

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Johnny, but I need someone on my side who I know isn’t…” he struggled for a word, “…Fedded up.”

 

“Okay.” Johnny frowned. “So, what do you want to do about it?”

 

“I want one of my people in on this. I don’t know what man power you’ve got on this op, but the higher-ups are running us both ragged.”

 

Johnny gazed at the ceiling, as though thinking about it. Then he nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do. You could use… an extra set of eyes.”

 

Ray glanced at the door. “You thinking who I’m thinking?”

 

“Besbriss?”

 

“Elaine, yeah. She’s good. And she remembers Zuko. She’ll take it seriously after what he did to Fraser.”

 

Johnny nodded more enthusiastically. “That’s true. And she’s a young cop, up and coming. It could be good for her career.”

 

“Yeah.” Ray sat back, feeling a little more confident than he had a moment before. “Let me know what they say.”

 

“Will do. You got the phone on you?”

 

“Always.” Ray sighed. Sometimes he felt like just throwing the thing in Lake Michigan.

 

“Okay. I’ll call you when I know anything.”

 

“You sure that line’s secure?”

 

“Does the Pope wear a big hat?”

 

Ray snorted laughter. “Okay. I’ll trust you on that one. Speak to you later.”

 

“Later, Ray.” Johnny let himself out. Ray sank back on his chair and shut his eyes. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? Some independent non-Fed back up. Someone he could talk to at work, who’d get why he was such a cranky son of a bitch.

 

Something was bothering him though – something more than the latest development with Zuko. Something Johnny had said. Ray opened his eyes, and looked at the ceiling.

 

Johnny had been looking at the ceiling. _‘They,’_ he’d said. _‘The higher-ups’_ – and then hadn’t he done some funny gesture with his thumbs? _‘An extra pair of eyes…’_

 

“Shit.” Ray jerked to his feet, staring at the ceiling, furious. The bastard Feds were spying on him, that’s what Johnny had been trying to say. Fuck.

 

When Frannie came in, Ray was standing on his desk, removing the offending light bulb. _Fucking obvious place to put a bug,_ he thought, shaking it. It rattled. _They must think I’m stupid._

 

“Ray?”

 

“Hey, Frannie. Get rid of this for me, will ya?”

 

“Yeah… sure.” She tapped her foot. “You got a trashcan right there.”

 

So she was pissed. Not his fault. “I know what I got. I said get rid of it.”

 

“Jeez Louise. Okay!”

 

Ray paused. “Actually, could you put it outside of the building?”

 

“Oh, sure.” She paused. “Anything else?”

 

“Get me a fresh light bulb from supply.” He paused again. “Actually, scratch that. Could you make a run to the shops and get some fresh bulbs there?”

 

“Yeah.” She frowned at him. “What’s going on, Ray?”

 

Ray shook his head at her, and her frown deepened. He clambered down from the desk. “Oh. While you’re at it, get me some pastries.” He grinned, knowing it would piss her off. “Tell Ma I’m fattening myself up.”

 

“You know you’re certifiable, don’t you?”

 

“Yeah, Sis. Runs in the family.”

 

She rolled her eyes and stalked out of the room with the light bulb in her hand. “I want donuts,” Ray yelled after her. “With sprinkles.” He chuckled. He was feeling better. All he needed now was for Johnny to phone him with the okay on recruiting Elaine, and it would be a good day. He got to his feet, still grinning, and went out to look at the overnight reports.

~*~

 

“Hey, Elaine.” Ray patted her shoulder, and passed her a fresh thermos of coffee.

 

“Hi, Ray,” she whispered back. She jerked her thumb at the window. “Same as usual,” she said, then poured coffee into the mug-lid. “Nothing.” She swigged it, wearily.

 

“Yeah. He’s a clever bastard.”

 

She chewed her lip. “You know, it’s been three weeks, and he’s done nothing out of the way.”

 

“I know,” he said, then decided to confide in her. Who cared if the Feds overheard him? “We got him on tape meeting up with Hudson last month.”

 

“Hudson?” She raised her eyebrows. “Oh. Wow.”

 

“Yeah. Wow.” He settled next to her, and poured coffee from the thermos into his own mug. He’d Irish it up when Elaine left. He supposed he should let her finish her shift now, but he felt like chatting for a bit before sending her on her way. _So, I’m a selfish bastard,_ he thought, wryly. “Anyway. How’s things going in Elaine-land?”

 

“Oh. You know. Can’t scare up a date. This kinda thing,” she gestured at the telescope, “it kinda eats into your personal life.”

 

“Tell me about it.” Ray peered through the telescope. Nothing. He sat back and sighed. If he was a sniper, he coulda taken Zuko out by now…

 

Shit. There it was again. He squeezed his eyes shut. _I’m not a killer,_ he lied to himself. _We’ll get Zuko, put him back in prison, like Sal. Let the courts decide if he lives or dies…_

“You alright there, Lieu?”

 

Ray laughed. _‘Lieu.’_ “You know, you can call me ‘Ray’ when we’re not in the office.”

 

Elaine snorted. “Sure. Hey, you know, there _is_ something new in ‘Elaine land.’ Did you know there’s a pool going round the office about whether you and I are having an affair?”

 

“Oh, fuck’s sake.” Ray stomped his mug down. “Doesn’t anyone have anything better to do than sit around gossiping like old women?”

 

“Hey, it doesn’t matter,” Elaine placated him. “At least they think it’s you, and not Simmons or Dewey.”

 

“Why?” Ray teased, feeling flattered and calming down. “Am I better than them?”

 

Elaine snorted again. “Fishing for compliments, Sir?”

 

“Yeah.” Ray smiled. “I’m desperate.”

 

“I can tell.”

 

“Okay,” Ray sighed. He’d better let her go. “I’ll see you tomorrow at work. And we’ll keep the blinds up when you’re in the office.”

 

“That would help,” Elaine chuckled. “Thanks for the coffee.” She raised it in salute. “See you tomorrow, Ray.”

 

He raised his mug back. “See you tomorrow, Besbriss.”

 

And then she was gone. Ray turned his attention to the window. It was going to be at least four hours until Johnny took over the watch. Maybe longer – a couple of times he’d been held up on other business, and not showed up at all.

 

_Thank God I’ve got Elaine on my side,_ Ray thought, as he topped his coffee up with whiskey. In the house across the street, the upstairs lights went out. Ray shifted on his seat with a sigh, and tried to make himself comfortable for the long night ahead.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

By mid-August, Ray was just about at the end of his rope. Sal's lawyers had, as expected, called for a retrial, and although Ray wouldn't have to appear he knew for a fact that he was going to have forensic accountants and lawyers crawling all over him. One branch of the Feds seemed to have no idea what the other was doing - jack asses. He'd tried hinting that he might be a little tied up about now, but the bastards on the end of the phone didn't have a clue.

 

On top of which, Elaine was barely talking to him. The office pool was officially over.

 

“I’m not sure you should have brought Besbriss into this.” Johnny spoke candidly as Ray gazed through the slats of the blinds at his detectives.

 

“I needed to bring someone into it,” Ray said, stepping back and letting the blinds fall shut. “It wasn’t gonna be Jack.”

 

“Perhaps it should have been. Besbriss is still a young cop,” Johnny pointed out. “I think we made a mistake.”

 

Ray sighed. Maybe Johnny was right. Not because Elaine was too young or immature for the job, but simply because she hadn’t been trained for it. She’d been showing signs of impatience for weeks, and increasing incredulity as to the viability of the op.

 

Besides, if this thing went Mobside up he wanted her as far away from the situation as possible. “Okay,” he said, and let his shoulders sag. “I’ll tell her the op’s been called off. How’s that?”

 

Johnny nodded, gravely. “That might be best.”

 

_Shit. Now I gotta do it alone._

 

“Okay.” Ray bit the bullet. “I’ll do it now…”

 

“Hang on.” Johnny put his hand on Ray’s arm. “Not now.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“You hear that?”

 

“What?” Oh shit. His phone was ringing. He looked at Johnny, puzzled. He was the only person who’d ever used the number for this cell. Who the fuck could this be? He pulled the phone from his pocket, and snapped it open. “Yeah? Who is this?”

 

“Hello, Lieutenant Vecchio.”

 

Ray sank down, his butt hitting the edge of the desk. Painfully. He leant over his knees, perched as though he could fly away, hands tightened up as though he could thump someone. “What the fuck do you want, Sharma?” The phone shook in his grasp. The fucker had called him because he was scared to show up, that’s what it was. _Knows I’d smash his smug fucking face in._

 

“I’m simply calling to make sure that yourself and Besbriss are properly motivated as to the case.”

 

“Me and Besbriss…” Hang on, that’s what he and Johnny had just been talking about. Ray stood, and stared at the walls and ceiling. Where the fuck was the bug this time? “You guys still listening to me?”

 

“We have our methods.”

 

“Fuck your methods.” Ray snapped, and shut the phone. “Fuck it.” He tossed the handset in the garbage can. “That’s it,” he said. “We did without the phone in Vegas, we’ll do without one now.”

 

Johnny looked confused for a moment, then his face cleared. “Ah,” he said. “That was Agent Sharma?”

 

“Yeah.” Ray scowled. “Bastard’s spying on us still.”

 

The phone was ringing from the garbage can. Johnny grimaced. “I think you’d better answer that. Otherwise they’ll send someone.”

 

“Oh God,” Ray muttered, and scooped up the phone.

 

“That’s no way to treat another law enforcement official,” Sharma said. Ray could just imagine his sneer.

 

“Yeah? Well, you guys should trust us enough not to spy on us.”

 

“Look,” Sharma sounded impatient. “I’m phoning with vital information. Neither you nor Agent Cash know this yet but –” he paused like a quiz show host waiting to reveal whether the contestant’s answer was correct or not.

 

“Spit it out,” Ray snarled.

 

“We have very good reason to believe that Zuko knows about the deal your fathers made. Not only that, but he guesses that you were our undercover operative in Vegas.”

 

“How – shit.” Ray shook his head, feeling dazed. The Feds had done a lot of things wrong, but they’d got one thing right – they’d protected his cover even during the trial. As far as the Mob was concerned, Armando Langoustini had turned _pentito_ and betrayed his Family. Ray’s name was never mentioned as the informant at the trial – instead he was referred to as ‘Witness X.’ And ‘Witness X’, the whole world knew, had died in a deal gone bad, and been buried in Vegas. The only two mob guys who knew Ray was really a cop had both been granted witness protection – Ray should be safe.

_At least my brother finally got a funeral,_ Ray thought, bitter. The Feds had kept Armando’s body on ice for a year, rolled him out when they needed to disappear Ray. One of the virtues of having an identical twin…

_Shit. This is horseshit._

 

“How could Zuko know? He’d have said something by now. I’d already be dead.”

                 

“Zuko likes power, and knowledge is power,” Sharma pointed out. “That piece of knowledge is priceless. He wouldn’t just share it with anybody. And,” he added, “food for thought. He’s got a personal grudge against you. He might want to deal with things personally.”

 

“Then why hasn’t he?”

 

“Because he knows we’re watching him.”

 

“He knows…” Ray’s knuckles whitened on the handset. “What the fuck is the point of watching him then?”

 

“We only just found out,” Sharma said in a deceptively mild tone. “And there really is no reason to shout.”

 

 _I’ll shout if I damn well want to,_ Ray thought, then sucked in a deep breath, deliberately steadying himself. This bastard had fucked with him enough. He didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of breaking down around him. “Whatever,” he said. “So, what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

 

“Get Besbriss off the case, and back off Zuko. We’ll put a covert protection detail on you and your family.”

 

“That supposed to make me feel better?”

 

“It will have to do until we can gather enough evidence to arrest Zuko.”

 

“God, you people are idiots.” Ray snapped the phone shut again, and handed it to Johnny. Johnny reached out, and missed. The phone fell to the floor, and Ray kicked it across the room. “I suppose you heard all that?”

 

Johnny gave a silent nod. Ray clenched and unclenched his fists, waiting to get his breathing under control. “Alright then,” he said, when he’d calmed down enough. “I’ll go tell Elaine the op is over. She’ll probably throw a party.” He glared at Johnny, though he knew it wasn’t his fault. “Let yourself out.”

 

Elaine didn’t throw a party – she didn’t even look particularly pleased. Sure there was a flicker of relief for a moment. Then her expression went grave.

 

“Sir,” she said quietly. “You need to take some time off.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

She bit her lip, but didn’t look away. “I don’t know everything that’s been going on, but I know it’s done you no good.”

 

“Now everyone’s a shrink,” Ray exploded. The bullpen went quiet, and he glared at them. He dropped his voice and spoke again. “Get back to work, Besbriss. This op is over.”

 

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.” The jocular familiarity had gone, and she sounded just as distant as Jack or any of the other guys. Fuck it. Better that way.

~*~

 

That night he got stinking drunk, and fell asleep on the couch. The next day he called in sick, for the first time since he’d started work at the Precinct, and went round his apartment, shutting all the blinds and curtains. He hadn’t been this hung-over in a long time, and he’d forgotten how much the sunlight could hurt.

 

When he’d finished the puking routine and felt a bit more human he started hunting through his apartment. He’d already swept it a few times for bugs – he’d requisitioned a detector months ago, and found no sign of surveillance apart from an occasional squeal or flutter from the speaker, which could be anything. Even so, he knew first-hand the Feds could get around this sort of equipment. He used it anyway on his initial sweep, then sighed, and started the manual search.

 

He was halfway through removing a listening device from the light switch in the bedroom when he heard a knock on the door. He froze.

 

“Ray?” Maria’s voice, muffled through the wood. He relaxed, and went to answer the door to his sister.

 

“Hey, Maria.” He stood back and let her step in. He hadn’t hugged her in a while. Somehow he’d managed to alienate her along with everyone else, except for Frannie. “What you doing here?”

 

She stared at him, her mouth open. “Ray,” she stuttered. “Have you seen yourself?” She viewed him, then the apartment, wide-eyed. “You look like shit.”

 

Ray started at his sister’s uncharacteristic cursing then looked round his apartment, seeing it and himself through her eyes.

 

Fuck. He really did look like shit. He was wearing his suit trousers, socks, and nothing else. He flushed, suddenly conscious of the scars showing on his chest and shoulder. “God,” he said. “Look away.” He fled to his bedroom, and dragged on a teeshirt. What the hell? Even when he’d been with Stella he’d tried to keep the old wounds covered up. “Make yourself some coffee or something,” he called through to the living room. He should at least pretend to be hospitable. “I’ll be with you in a minute.” He opened the wardrobe, and glanced at himself in the inside mirror.

 

Armando looked back, and he slammed the door shut.

 

_Holy shit._

 

“Are you okay in there, Ray?” Maria’s voice from the living room had a sharp edge to it, like Ma about to chastise one of the kids.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Gimme a minute.” Ray scrubbed his unshaven face, and grimaced. She’d already seen him at his worst – it wasn’t like a bit of spit and polish was going to fool her. At least he was covered up now. What had he been thinking, opening the door like that?

 

Reluctantly he left the sanctuary of his bedroom. No point hiding, she’d only come in anyway. There never had been any respect for territorial boundaries between the Vecchio children. Ray saw her standing in the middle of his living room, arms folded, looking like a younger version of Ma, and sighed.

 

“You’ve been drinking,” she accused him.

 

“Not today.” _Or ever again,_ he thought, though he knew he’d break that promise to himself.

 

“The place reeks of it,” she stated the obvious, and scowled, before gentling. “What’s going on with you, Ray?” He said nothing. She stepped toward him, and touched his arm. “Is this because of the Vegas thing?” He stepped back. “Or, you know.” She paused. “The other thing?”

 

 _Oh fuck’s sake._ For all the shit that had been happening to him this last eight months, the one thing he hadn’t thought about was Father Curry. _Thanks for that, Sis._ He set his mouth in a bitter line, and said nothing.

 

“Well,” she said, and shrugged. “You’re not going to feel any better skulking in the dark.” She marched to his windows and drew back the curtains.

 

“Fuck, Maria –”

 

She glared at him, again a simulacrum of Ma, and he bit his tongue. “Sorry.”

 

“Okay,” she said. “Frannie said you called in sick, so Ma’s going to be coming over with soup and pastries. We’d better get this place halfway sorted before she arrives.”

 

“Ma’s coming?” Shit. “No. You gotta call her off.”

 

“Even if I could,” she wrinkled her nose, “you still got to get this place aired.” She shook her head in reproval. “Smells a bit.”

 

Great. If Maria could smell the booze, then so would Ma, no matter how well he aired the place. “Okay,” he agreed reluctantly. “I was doing some household repairs,” he lied, gesturing at the loose electrical fittings. “Might as well clean up while I’m at it.”

 

Maria nodded. “Where do you keep your cleaning stuff?” Ray gestured in the direction of the kitchen. She shook her head again, and went in to gather supplies.

 

Why, Ray wondered, as he opened the windows, did his big sister have the ability to make him feel like a six year old? And why did it somehow make him feel better to have her around and fussing like this?

 

When Ma arrived the apartment was tidy, if not exactly up to her standards, and Ray had managed to wash and shave. He’d nicked himself a couple of times – his hands were shakier than usual, but he definitely looked better than he had before. Even so, Ma took one look at him, and pronounced that he was to come home. Now. And do what she told him to, until he was better.

 

“I can’t,” he was saying, though part of him wanted to, when the phone rang. “Hang on. I gotta get that.” Ma looked offended as he snatched up the handset and took it through to the bedroom. Well, shit. She’d have to be offended. “What?”

 

“Ray.” It was Johnny’s voice, tense.

 

“What are you doing, ringing me on the landline?”

 

“You threw away the cell phone, remember?”

 

“Oh. Yeah. Go on then. What do you want?”

 

“I just wanted to say – this next few days we’re short on resources for the protection detail.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“It means they’re stretched thin. It would help if you and your family were all in the same place. Think you can manage that?”

 

Ray stared at his bedroom door. “Yeah,” he said, with a sense of relief. It would please Ma. “Yeah. Okay. How long for?”

 

“Just a few days. Hold tight. We’re close to making an arrest.”

 

 _Thank God._ Ray kept his gratitude to himself. “It’s about time,” he snapped. _Fuck, back off, Vecchio. Not Johnny’s fault._ He closed his eyes. “Okay then,” he said, more calmly. “I’ll go tell Ma she can _bambino_ me for a bit. You go arrest that bastard.”

 

“Will do. And Ray?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Take care of yourself.”

 

“Don’t I always?”

 

Johnny huffed a laugh and hung up. Ray tossed the handset on the bed, and went to tell Ma the good news.

~*~

 

Frannie’s twins were underneath the table, playing with his shoelaces, and Vito was staring at him like he’d just landed from the moon. Ray smiled at him, and realised that the kid hadn’t spoken to him – well – since before Vegas when he was Vito’s ‘nunc nunc zio.’

 

“Hey, Vito.”

 

Vito chewed his thumb, looking as though he had something huge on his mind.

 

“How you doing?” Ray asked, helplessly, wondering how to talk to his nephew.

 

Finally Vito screwed up his courage. “Who _are_ you?”

 

“I’m…” Ray felt his heart constrict. “I’m your uncle Ray.”

 

Vito stared at him some more, then shook his head with certainty. “Uncle Ray has hair,” he declared, then bolted from the room.

 

Ray’s mouth went dry. _Uncle Ray has hair? What the hell?_

_Oh shit…_ Vito didn’t remember him, but he remembered damn Kowalski. Ray had been down in Florida and missed the family Christmases even when Benny and his bastard of a boyfriend came down for the season. Somehow Ray himself had never got around to visiting…

 

Shit. This was his fault. He should have made more of an effort with the family…

 

No. This was _Kowalski’s_ fault. _That fucking snake._ Ray blinked sharply. _He has to take everything of mine. Even Vito._

 

“Hey, Bro.” Frannie came into the kitchen, seeking her children. “You two. Come outta there, you’re bothering your uncle Ray.”

_Uncle Ray…_

 

“Did you know Vito doesn’t know me?” Ray blurted out.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“He thinks Kowalski’s his uncle.”

 

“Well – he is, kinda.” Frannie gave him a puzzled look. “Oh,” she said, realisation dawning. “You mean… he doesn’t know you’re his Uncle Ray too?”

 

“Not ‘too.’ Only. I’m his only Uncle Ray. And he doesn’t even know it.”

 

“Who’s fault is that?” Frannie’s voice was very adult and calm in the face of Ray’s anger. “I know you had your reasons, but you can’t miss so much of a child’s life and expect them not to change.” She looked at him pointedly. “You can’t miss so much of everything and expect it not to change, Ray.”

 

“Yeah.” Ray stared at his kid sister. “People change.”

~*~

 

He lay awake long after the house went quiet, looking at the ceiling, wondering if the place was bugged. If it was, there was nothing he could do about it. It wasn’t as though he could tear the place apart looking for spy-cams or whatever. And it wasn’t as though he was going to say anything interesting either. He didn’t know why the Feds were even bothering. _Maybe for the same reason they’re looking at Zuko,_ he thought. _They think I’ll go back to my criminal ways._ He smiled at the thought, bitterly. He’d learned enough in Vegas that, if he wanted to, he could earn a lot more than a Lieutenant’s salary. The Feds knew that – he was probably going to be under surveillance for the rest of his life.

 

He turned restlessly on the bed. He was in his ‘old’ bedroom, now the guest room. All the furnishings had changed. He might as well be in a hotel. An old fashioned hotel, designed by Ma. He laughed. God, it was just as well he had no friends. He wouldn’t want anyone to think he was the one who’d picked out the lace and cushions.

                                                                                                                                   

Jeez. He flung the back the sheets, and got out of bed. He couldn’t sleep. He was feeling sick again, and had the shakes. He needed some coffee and sugar, but if he went down now he’d wake Ma up. She was like Benny - she had bat ears. 

_Shouldn’t a come,_ he thought, hugging himself. _I coulda had a drink if I hadn’t have come…_ He stopped his pacing, remembering why he’d come in the first place. The Feds were out there, pooling their resources to protect his family. Ray stared out the window. That was a good thing, with Zuko out there, but he didn’t feel much safer. He felt like – he felt like he had done in Vegas. There. He could admit it. Scared. Angry. _At least,_ he thought, _when I was in Vegas I had Armando to look out for me._

 

He’d never thought he’d miss his brother.

~*~

 

That night he dreamt a dream, and woke up screaming.

~*~

 

Breakfast was a curiously silent affair, and nobody looked his way. Ray sliced at his bacon savagely. He remembered the last time he’d woken the whole house up with one of his nightmares. Frannie wouldn’t shut her mouth back then – now nobody was opening their mouth, other than to put food in.

 

This time he couldn’t even remember the damn dream.

 

Out in the hall, the phone rang. “I’ll take it,” Maria said. Ray waited, heart in his mouth, hoping it wasn’t the Feds. “It’s for you, Ray.”

 

_Oh shit._

 

“What do you people want?” he snapped on the phone.

 

“Ray?” Benny’s voice was puzzled.                   

 

“Oh, hey. Benny!” Ray smiled, and sat on the stairs, relieved. “Sorry. I thought you were somebody else.”

 

“Anything I should worry about?”

 

“Uh – no.” Ray affected a laugh. “Just work stuff. So,” he tried for casual. “How’s it hanging in the frozen tundra?”

 

“Fine, Ray.” Benny cleared his throat. “Frannie tells me you’ve not been well?”

 

“Oh, I’m fine, Benny. You know me. Wouldn’t be the first time I pulled man flu to get a few days off the job.”

 

“’Man flu?’”

 

Ray laughed. Benny was just the same as always. “Don’t worry, Benny, I’m fine.”

 

“Good. Glad to hear it.”

 

“So. How’s Dief?”

 

“Oh…” Benny’s voice warmed. “Diefenbaker and Ray are outside the cabin right now, having a snowball fight.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Ray felt irrationally jealous. Jeez, he’d love something as innocent as a snowball fight.

 

“You’d think,” Benny said, “that being an Artic wolf, Dief would know a thing or two about snow, but he falls for it every single time. Oh… yes. He’s done it again.”

 

“Done what?”

 

“And again.” Benny sighed, dramatically. “Jumps up to catch a snowball, then wonders why it collapses in his mouth.” He chuckled. “You’ll have to visit us soon, see if you can persuade Ray to stop tormenting the poor animal.”

 

And Ray was laughing at the image of Dief leaping about, snapping his jaws at snowballs, but then… His brain went blank. When it came back again, he couldn’t figure out what his friend was saying. He was talking about Ray – which Ray? Who was Benny talking about? Because Ray was in Chicago, but there was another Ray in Canada with Benny now, and that Ray was playing with Dief… Ray closed his eyes, and he could see it, too vividly. Dief shaking his muzzle, tongue lolling out like he was laughing, and all that snow. _But I’m not there, so how can I see him?_

 

“Ray?” Benny’s voice cut through, and then Ray couldn’t remember what they’d been talking about. He said a bunch of stupid stuff that made no sense, and Benny was saying, “Ray?” like it was a question. Anyone else would be saying, ‘what the hell’s wrong with you?’ But Benny was Canadian, Benny was polite, and just kept saying, “Ray?” in that puzzled voice.

 

“Shit,” Ray said. “Sorry, Benny. Gotta go.” Fuck’s sake – he was way too tired to talk to anyone. He was going to have to call in sick today as well.

 

“Right you are,” Benny said, with a worried tone. “Keep well, Ray.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry,” he said, and hung up the phone before he could babble more nonsense.

 

What the hell had happened there? Sleep deprivation, and stress. That was it. Well, damn. It was his sick day, he was going back to bed. “Frannie,” he yelled.

 

“Yes, Sir?” she said pointedly, glaring at him as she stepped into the hall.

 

“I’m calling in sick again. Since you’d answer the phone and sign me off anyway, I’m just telling you now, okay?”

 

“Okay.” She looked concerned. “What’s wrong?”

 

“I’m just tired, that’s all.”

 

She nodded. “Okay then. Well – one of us has to get ready for work. I’ll see you tonight.”

 

“Yeah. Tonight.” Ray poked his head around the kitchen door. “Ma,” he said. “I’m going back to bed. Anyone wakes me up, I won’t be responsible.”

 

Ma looked at him quizzically. “Okay, Raimondo,” she said. “I’ll keep the _bambini_ quiet.” Ray rubbed his forehead, and nodded, heading upstairs.

 

And didn’t sleep.

 

And didn’t sleep.

~*~

 

Later, when Ma and Maria were taking the kids to the park, Ray gave up and got out of bed. He wandered into the kitchen and drank milk from the carton – that sometimes helped – when the phone rang. He was so nervous he yelped, and dropped the carton. Shit – he knew it. It had to be the Feds.

 

He had just finished cleaning up the mess when the phone rang again. He glared at the hallway. _Can’t get out of it,_ he thought. _They’ll just keep calling till I answer. It’s not like they don’t know where I am._

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, picking up the phone.

 

 “Ray?” At least it was Johnny this time, not that bastard Sharma.

 

“Hey, Johnny. What do you want now?”

 

“Ray,” the agent said, and paused. Ray frowned. There was a formal tone to the man’s voice that Ray wasn’t used to anymore. He hadn’t sounded this official since before Vegas. “Glad I caught you. I’ve got some news.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Ray twisted the cord of the phone, trying to keep his suspicion out of his voice. “Good or bad?”

 

“It’s good news as far at our case is concerned,” Cash clarified, “But, ah… I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

 

“Yeah?” Ray scowled. “Okay. So what’s up?”

 

“We won’t need you to testify at the appeal because –”

 

“You mean Sal's appeal?" Ray cut in. "Holy shit, that's not good news; it's great news.” He blew out a sigh of relief – it felt like he’d been holding his breath all year, and had only just noticed. “Thank God. I don't think I could go through another circus like that –" his words dried up and he stuttered to a stop. The temperature in the hallway had dropped. There was a presence at his back, and the smell of a faint but unmistakable cologne.

 

Johnnie cleared his throat on the other end of the line. "You still there? Look, there's something else.”

 

“I'm here," Ray said, his voice strained. He knew what Johnnie was about to say, he knew because…

 

“Sal was found dead in his cell yesterday. Suicide.”

 

…because Sal was here, in his hallway watching him with an amused expression on his face.

 

“Hi, Mando.” He smiled. “What’s new?”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Ray backed down the hall and into the kitchen, staring at the ghost, trying not to blink. _God’s sake,_ he thought, _why am I always the one who has to be haunted?_ He turned sharply, and slammed the door.

 

No good – Sal was already in the kitchen, looking around it with interest. “Hey,” he said, rapping the table with his knuckles. “This is cool. It’s, you know. Cozy. This where you grew up then?”

_Didn’t he just call me Mando…? shit. He knows I’m not Mando._

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know you're not really Mando," the ghost said congenially. "But I gotta call you something, right?" Sal folded his arms and leaned against the counter, looking very much at ease. "You can either tell me your real name or I can keep calling you Mando. Doesn't matter to me." He looked around for a place to sit, and straddled a chair, folding his arms across the back, and leaning his chin on it.

 

Ray’s skin crawled. _I’m not telling you my name._ "What are you doing here?" he whispered.

 

"Whaddaya think? I wanted to meet the man who betrayed me." Sal fixed his eyes on Ray. "Gotta say, I was relieved to find out Mando never turned his back on us. You know what that felt like? Sitting in that damn cell, thinking he'd turned  _pentito?_  Felt like I'd lost my brother all over again." Sal stared at him, unblinking. "You know, you took two brothers from me."

 

"I'm..." _not sorry. I'm not sorry._  

 

"You're what?" Sal prompted, his voice devoid of humour. "Lost for words?"

 

_God, I gotta get outta here..._

 

Ray turned to make his escape, when he heard footsteps outside the house, someone rattling at the door. For a moment he froze -  _Zuko, the Feds, another damn ghost -_ then he recognised the voices.

 

"Maria, I tell you, I don't want to hear any more about it. If you don't get along with your boss, you either find another job or you learn to put up with her."

 

"Easy for you to say, Ma. The woman's a nightmare."

 

"You’re good with kids. You should find a nice job in daycare."

 

Maria laughed as the door swung open. "That's pretty much what I'm doing all day anyway for Frannie's kids..." 

 

"Frannie does her bit. She minds Vito when you need her to."

 

"I'm not saying she doesn't, just... oh. Hey there, Ray. Don't stand there gaping. Can you help me with the stroller?"

 

God. They were carrying on like everything was normal... Ray glanced over his shoulder. Sal was lounging in the doorway, hands tucked into the trousers of his very expensive suit.  _Of course they can't see him. They've never seen any of my ghosts._

 

"This your sister, Mando?" Sal looked at her appreciatively. “She’s a bit of a fox.”

 

"Shut up," Ray snapped. Then, "Sorry, Maria." He went to help her with the twins’ double buggy. She was being held back by the fact that Vito was clinging to her left leg like a limpet. For once the twins weren't wailing. They musta worn themselves out, screaming at the park, and were fast asleep.

 

"That's no way to talk to your sister, Raimondo." Ma followed Maria through the door, with bags of groceries in her arms. Automatically Ray reached out, and took them from her. Ma bustled through to the kitchen. Ray followed, dumped the bags on the kitchen table and stared. Sal was standing next to Ma.

_God, he’s in Ma’s kitchen…_ Ray’s worst nightmare, that the Iguanas would find out about him, about his family –

 

“I’m not gonna hurt your mother,” Sal said, sounding disappointed in him. “I understand why you did it. Your mother’s your mother, you know?”

 

_Yeah right…  Like Sal’s gonna stick to the codice d’onore now..._

“I am,” Sal said, offended. “It’s all I have left.”

“Leave Ma alone,” Ray choked out.

 

“Raimondo?”

 

“Nothing… I just… gonna help Maria.”

 

God, he had to get Sal away from Ma.

 

He turned to flee the kitchen, and bumped into Maria in the hallway. Sal had moved ahead of him, and was kneeling now next to Vito, tousling his hair. The boy was oblivious – despite the chill in the air, he didn’t even shiver. Ray nearly told Sal not to touch his nephew – then he remembered that Maria couldn’t see the man. At this rate his entire family were going to think he’d lost his mind.

 

“Ray?” Maria was giving him a dirty look. He realised that she thought he was glaring at the kids. _Fuck…_

 

“Sorry, Maria. Headache.”

 

“Okay.” She huffed. “Did you get any sleep?”

 

“No. Think I’m coming down with the flu or something.”

 

“I think we both know this isn’t the flu,” she said, folding her arms.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Maria glanced over her shoulder, to make sure Ma was out of earshot. “I know why you were in hospital last time,” she said, dropping her voice. “Detox.”

 

“What?” Ray felt his jaw drop. The Feds had no right to tell anyone that.

 

“Don’t worry, I worked it out for myself,” she reassured him, “and I didn’t tell Ma. She still thinks it was your lung again. But I’ve got to tell _you.”_ Her face went tight. “Stop drinking.”

 

“I’m not –”

 

“You are, Ray. I’m not an idiot.” She gathered up the children’s toys, grimly. “I grew up with it. And Ma’s not an idiot either.”

 

“I just –”

 

“Don’t.” She threw up a hand, palm flat against his chest. “I don’t want to hear it. The world’s full of drunks with crap excuses. I don’t want you to be one of them.”

 

“I…” _Fuck, is that what she thinks of me? That I’m a drunk?_ “Okay.” Ray nodded at her, dazed. “Thanks.”

 

“Yeah, well. Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.” She brushed past him, and followed the kids into the other room. From behind the living room door Ray could hear the kids playing. From behind the kitchen door he could hear Ma praying as she did the dishes.

 

_Oh God._ He flicked a glance at Sal. The ghost gave him look of pity mixed with contempt. Ray knew that look – he’d seen it before when the brothers had thought Armando was weak. “Mando,” Sal said. “I know she’s family, but she’s a _woman_ , for fuck’s sake. You shouldn’t let her speak to you like that.”

 

“I’m not Mando,” Ray whispered. “I’m Ray. My name’s Ray.”

 

“I think I’ll stick with Mando,” Sal said with a toothy smile. He patted Ray on the arm, and vanished.

 

Ray closed his eyes. _How long? How long till he turns up again?_

 

For once it was just the immediate family, ten of them around the table – Ma must be trying to keep things quiet for him – but it was still too loud.

 

 

And there was a ghost at the table. Actually, pacing up and down the dining room, leaning over peoples’ shoulders and stealing bits of food from the plates.

 

 

“Fuck, Mando. This is good food. You got no idea how much I missed a real meal in prison.”

 

 

“Why do you need to eat anyway?” Ray snapped, irritated.

 

 

The adults stopped talking. The kids carried on regardless. “Sorry,” Ray said. “Thinking aloud.”

 

 

The women, Ma, Maria and Frannie all looked at him suspiciously. Even Angelica – fuck. Big Tony just shrugged, oblivious, dug back into the risotto, and started talking about work again.

 

 

“Yeah, you’re right, Mando,” Sal said, snagging a mushroom from Tony’s plate. “It’s weird. Just one of those things I guess.” He sighed. “You never know what you got till it’s gone.” He licked his fingers and looked regretful. “Jackie woulda loved this.”

 

 

_Shut the fuck up about Jackie. You never talked about him after he died, why are you talking about him now?_

 

 

“How do ghosts even eat?” he asked Sal, acerbically. The room went silent again, and Ray bit his tongue. “Sorry,” he said, trying to reign in his temper. Even the little kids were staring at him now. His body language must be way off. He pushed his plate away. “I’m tired,” he made his excuse. “I’ll go up now.”

 

 

“Raimondo, you’ve hardly touched your food –”

 

 

“Don’t worry, Ma. I’ll eat it later.”

 

 

‘Later’ he was standing, staring out the window, wondering where the Feds were, wondering where Zuko was. _Fuck. I’m useless. I should be out there protecting my family, not hiding in my bedroom like a scared kid._ It had been building up inside him since Sal turned up – rage at his impotence. He wanted to throw things, but he didn’t want to move. Sal was sitting at the bottom of the bed now, leafing through one of Little Tony’s Spiderman comics. Ray had no idea what it was doing in here.

 

 

“Raimondo,” Ma knocked on the door.  “Are you alright in there?”

 

 

_Fuck off._ With a huge effort, he managed to speak. “Yeah, Ma.”

 

 

There was a pause on the other side of the door. “Can I get you anything?”

 

 

“No, Ma.” He took a breath, and forced himself to be polite. “Thanks Ma. I’m fine.”

 

 

By the time Maria knocked he didn’t just want to throw things, he wanted to scream. He lay down on the bed, and covered himself. If she looked in, he’d pretend to be asleep. If she came in he’d probably hit her.

 

 

Thank fuck, she didn’t open the door. She went downstairs.

 

 

And then there were voices outside his room. His sisters, whispering. His mother, telling them to hush, and shooing them down the hall. They were talking about him, of course. Everyone was talking about him. He thought of Elaine, Huey, the whole bullpen talking against him. The Feds listening in on him. He curled up under the sheets, turned his back on Sal, and put his fists to his ears.

~*~

 

 

“Hey, Bro.” Frannie was being carefully casual as she brought in his breakfast on a tray. “How you doing?”

 

 

He looked at her, but didn’t bother to sit up. What time was it anyway? Was it tomorrow already?

 

 

_Shit,_ he realised, surprised. _I actually got some sleep…_

 

 

Frannie cleared the top of his bedside cabinet, and put the tray down. “You not going to say ‘hello?’”

 

 

“Hello.”

 

 

She sighed, and pulled up a chair. _That’s new,_ he thought, paying attention to it for the first time. _They musta got that when I was away._ He found himself resenting the thing for being here when he wasn’t. It should be funny, but it wasn’t. _I’m jealous of a chair._

 

 

“What you thinking about?” She smiled, gently, like she wasn’t trying to snoop on him, and he smiled back, like he didn’t want to smack the smile off her face.

 

 

“Nothing,” he lied.

 

 

“So, are you gonna come downstairs?”

 

 

There was something he should say to that… “Tired,” he said. _‘You’re always fucking tired,’_ Jackie snapped in his head. He repeated it, sourly. “I’m always fucking tired.”

 

 

Frannie just patted his hand. It clenched, and he jerked it away, hid it under the pillow. He’d forgotten it was out there, on display, where anyone could see the burn mark.

 

 

“What happened?” she asked. “To your hands?”

 

 

“Burned,” he said, still staring at her. After a moment he added, “long story.”

 

 

“I’m your sister. You can tell me anything.”

 

 

He looked at her, for no better reason than he couldn’t be bothered to look away. It wasn’t the first time she’d asked, but she never did take a hint. It was still none of her damn business… besides. He didn’t have the energy right now to remember the story about his hands, let alone tell his sister.

 

 

“If she is your sister.” Sal’s voice struck him with sharp clarity. Ray blinked hard, staring at the ghost, which was now squatting in front of Frannie, examining her face.

 

 

_‘What does he mean, if she’s my sister,’_ he thought, with a derisive snort.  _‘What sorta fucked up thing is that to say? Of course that’s Frannie. Who the hell else would it be?_ “I think I know my own sister,’’ he said.

 

 

Frannie stared at him, wide eyed. “That’s what I said.” Concerned she put the back of her wrist to his forehead, checking for a temperature. “I’m your sister.”

 

 

“I knew Mando,” Sal pointed out and shrugged. “You fooled me.”

 

 

_Maybe the fucker’s just here to drive me mad…_

 

 

“Bit late for that, Mando.” Sal chuckled. “Say ‘hi’ to your ‘sister,’” he added –and he was gone.

 

 

_Great. Now he goes._ Ray felt a surge of fear, and pushed it down.

 

 

“You don’t have a fever,” Frannie informed him, then folded her arms. “Come on,” she persisted, her voice bossy, as if she could nag him into submission. “Say something. Ma’s downstairs, thinking you’ve got pneumonia again. You know she worries.”

 

 

_Of course it’s Frannie. Only Frannie could be so fucking irritating._

 

 

“I can’t help it if Ma worries,” he sniped. Fuck’s sake. He was trying to bully Frannie out of the room, but all that happened was that he sounded like a sulking kid. He sat up and looked at the clock. Holy shit, he’d meant to be in the office early today. He was late.

_Oh, fuck it. I’m taking another sick day._

 

 “Okay.” He scrubbed his face. “I’ll come down later. What’s been happening at work?”

 

 

Frannie shrugged. “Same old, same old,” she said. “Some smash and grabs, a few domestics – they pulled a floater up from the river. That kinda thing. Nothing you can’t catch up on later. Come on. Pull yourself together.”

 

 

“Oh, fuck off.” Ray heard himself cursing at her, too late to stop it. She flinched, and he got out of bed, angry with himself, with her, with Sal for putting such an ugly thought in his head.

 

 

Frannie tilted her chin, valiantly, and chose to ignore the insult. “You know,” she tried again, “you can talk to me about anything.”

 

 

_Yeah,_ he thought. _And then you’ll tell the Feds._ “Oh fuck.” He rubbed his temples with his knuckles, looking at the new wallpaper. He wasn’t making sense, not even to himself. “I got a headache.”

 

 

“You want me to get you some painkillers?”

 

 

Time stopped for a frozen second, and then it all fell into place. Of course she wanted to give him a pill.

 

 

He turned and stared at her. His heart was beating very fast.

 

 

_She’s not Frannie._

 

 

He’d been thinking his sister had grown up, that she’d changed while he was gone – but she hadn’t changed. The Feds had done something, taken his kid sister somewhere. This woman, sitting on the chair, she wasn’t Frannie at all. She looked like Frannie, she moved like Frannie but…

 

 

_The Feds put her in to watch Benny while I was in Vegas_. Ray felt it like a kick in his kidneys, utter certainty. He sank back onto the bed. They must have done it when she started work at the station. Frannie started not long after Kowalski. _Oh God… he must be in on the switch._ Kowalski and this Frannie thing had been spying on Benny, and now she was spying on Ray.

 

 

_I gotta warn Benny._

 

 

“Ray, do you need a Tylenol?”

 

 

He glanced at the food she’d put on the tray. _I wonder what’s in it._

 

 

“Ray?”

 

 

_Shit, pull it together, Vecchio. You don’t want her to know you figured it out._

 

 

“Sorry, Sis,” he managed, with effort. He must have been looking at her funny – she seemed nervous. “I’m just really tired. I’ll…” he looked at the tray. “I’ll eat something. Come down later.”

 

 

“You sure?”

                                                                 

 

“Yeah.” He swallowed against the lump in his throat. _God, poor Frannie. She thought she was starting her dream job, and then… then they did that to her. Where is she? Where’s the real Frannie?_ The fake Frannie sat there looking at him, with fake concern. _Oh God, they musta killed her. They killed my little sister._

 

 

 

He blinked sharply. _Don’t let her know I’m onto her…_ “Yeah,” he said, tightly, and scrubbed his face. “Dunno why I’m crying.” _Bitch killed Frannie._ He had to get out of here. If she realised he knew what she’d done she might… she might hurt Ma and the kids, Maria. God. She might kill them. Take them, change them.

 

 

She patted his shoulder and he flinched. “Don’t touch me,” he spat out, before he could stop himself. She withdrew, looking like she had feelings to be hurt. He clenched his fists, and pretended to care. “I’m sorry, Frannie,” he said, his throat tight. He hated himself for calling this thing by his sister’s name, but he had to keep his cover, for his family’s sake. And he had to get to Benny. “I didn’t mean to snap.”

 

 

“Whatever,” she said. “Do what you want. I don’t care.” She stomped out of the room – and if that wasn’t actually Frannie it was doing a damn good impersonation of his sister in a snit.

 

 

As soon as the door was shut, he got out of bed, started getting things ready.

 

 

First thing he had to do, was make sure Ma knew what was going on. He couldn’t just tell her – there would be bugs in the house. Someone would be listening. _Note,_ he thought. _I’ll leave her a note. Tell her to burn it. I’ll… where can I put it? Somewhere that the spy won’t look._ He thought about it, panicked for a moment, then felt almost sick with relief as he realised what to do. _That thing’s not Frannie, but she behaves like her – well, nearly like her. She’s not as ditzy as Frannie, but she’s not about to make my bed._

 

 

He scrabbled through the top drawer, where he kept his gun. Good – he’d need that. But right now he needed… what did he need? _I need paper, a pen…_

 

 

Thank God. He found them.

 

 

He put the tray on the floor, used the bedside cabinet as a desk. Started writing Ma a warning, quickly. Damn. Too quickly; his handwriting looked jerky and strange. _Slow down, or she won’t be able to read it._ He took a breath, slowed down. Told her what had happened to Frannie, not to trust the new Frannie, or that other imposter, Kowalski. _‘Stella’s okay,’_ he scrawled, ‘ _If she calls, tell her to be careful though.’_ Stella had been talking to the Frannie thing on the phone for months now – _‘You can’t trust Stanley either,’_ he repeated. What else did he have to tell Ma… He stared blankly at the sheet, then jerked. Shit, how could he have forgotten this?

 

 

_‘Warn Benny,’_ he wrote. ‘ _You’ve got to warn Benny, but please be careful how you say it. I don’t think Kowalski speaks Italian – Benny does. His accent’s terrible, but speak slow. He’ll know what you’re saying. Don’t tell him while he’s at work. Someone might be listening on the phone. You could try calling Buck Frobisher. He’s retired now. His number’s in my book. Tell him to get a message to Benny that he has to call you from a secure line. But you have to be careful how you say it in case they’re listening.’_

 

 

He took in a breath, blew it out. His heart was still racing, way too fast. _Calm down, you haven’t finished yet._ He took another sheet, and gave her the details of the savings accounts, how to get hold of his lawyers, if anything happened. Thought of telling her he was going to find Benny – then decided against it. One of the spies might read this before she could burn it. Ma would be okay. She was a clever woman, she’d always managed to fool the neighbours when she got hurt, so yeah, she could explain the letter away if they found it. Maybe she’d pretend she didn’t believe him. But if they worked out he was going to Benny, then he’d never get there.

 

 

Okay. He looked at the pages for a moment, realised they were shaking like leaves. Remembered some guy, a poker player, and the way the cards shook in his hand when the Bookman walked in. _What’s happening? Why am I scared?_ He tried to remember how many times Frannie had brought him coffee at work, or bought him donuts, a sandwich. _Shit. No wonder I’ve been feeling so bad._ Impulsively he flattened the paper on his knee, and scrawled an extra line.

 

 

_‘Don’t let Frannie feed the kids. She’s putting something in the food.’_

 

 

That would have to do. He folded the letter and shoved it in the pillowcase, where Ma would find it, next time she changed the sheets.

 

_~*~_

 

 

In the end he wasted the whole day, pacing his bedroom floor, waiting for everyone to fall asleep.

 

 

“You’re doing the right thing, Mando,” Sal reassured him, for what felt like the hundredth time.

 

 

Ray scowled. “Fuck off, Sal,” he muttered. He wasn’t sure what to make of the ghost. On the one hand, it hadn’t threatened him yet, on the other hand, it was calling him Mando, though it clearly knew the difference between him and his brother. Ray was leaning toward the theory that it had only turned up to torment him.

 

 

Sal seemed unaffected by Ray’s churlish attitude, and strolled over to the window sill, started fiddling with Ma’s knickknacks. He was probably bored. Ray tried to ignore him, though the thought of Sal touching his mother’s things gave him shudders. He started making the bed again, for something to do. He was tucking in the corners when Ma came in; he managed to smile when she kissed him.

 

 

“You didn’t eat, Raimondo,” she accused him, looking at the tray. ‘Frannie’ had brought the dinner up earlier, exchanging it for his untouched breakfast.

 

 

“Sorry, Ma,” he replied and turned back the blankets, hoping she’d take the hint and leave him alone. He couldn’t warn her about the poison. Not out loud. “Not hungry.”

 

 

“Well, I’m hungry,” Sal protested, looking yearningly at the bologna sandwich.

 

 

“You want me to fix you something?” Ma offered. “I can heat something up.”

 

 

Ray _did_ want something to eat, now that he thought of it. Now that he was awake again, thinking clearly for the first time in days, he realised that Sal wasn’t the only hungry one. He was hungry too.

 

 

“Not now though.” Sal shot him a warning glance. “Don’t eat now. You don’t have time to eat. Besides…” He flicked his finger on the baguette. “You don’t know whether the Frannie thing messed with the groceries.”

 

 

Fuck. He’d forgotten about that. Sal was right. Besides which, he didn’t know how long it would take him to get to Benny, so he should start out as soon as possible.

 

 

“I’ll be fine, Ma. I’ll eat in the morning.”

 

 

She brushed his face with her hand and sighed. “Shave, Raimondo,” she said, ruffling his bristles. “You want to look smart when you go back to work.”

 

 

“Yeah.” Ray carried on smiling and sat on his bed. Shit, he was leaving the Two Seven in the lurch – they’d have to call in some paper-pusher from another station, and that would cause mayhem all round. He looked up at Sal, and Sal pursed his lips, amused.

 

 

“Think I care about a cop station?”

 

 

_Yeah, well. Guy has a point – probably not so much._

 

 

“Do you hear me, Ray?” Ma phrased it as a question, but Ray knew his Ma. She was taking charge. “You’re going to get up in the morning, smarten yourself up, have breakfast, yes?”

 

 

He really did smile then. God, he was going to miss her. When he got all this shit straightened out, things were going to be better.

 

 

“Love you, Ma,” he said, gruffly. She bent her head, kissed his bald patch.

 

 

“I know, Son. Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

 

She didn’t see him for the next three months.

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

Getting the car was easy enough. He felt bad about it – he knew the woman who owned the damn thing. Marlene, sixty-three, went to Bingo with Ma, and was utterly devoted to her cats. There was a cat cage in the back right now and everything was covered in fur.

 

 

“Fuck, Mando.” Sal wrinkled his nose. “This wreck stinks.”

 

 

“Yeah? Well, I’m doing her a favour taking the damn car. She shouldn’t have left it so easy to break into.” To be fair, he had an advantage as a cop. After all, what he was doing now was no different from helping some bozo who'd locked the doors with the keys still in the ignition. He’d told Marlene often enough – _you don’t leave a window down in this neighbourhood._ Not any neighbourhood in Chicago. Okay, so she’d only let it down a crack, but that was enough for a determined cop, or a criminal. “Maybe she thought the smell of cat-piss was enough to put people off.”

 

 

“It’s not cat-piss,” Sal said, then shrugged. “Whatever.” He rubbed his hands briskly against the cold. “She’ll know better next time.”

 

 

Ray glanced at his cousin, and shook his head. “You’re having way too much fun here,” he said.

 

 

“I can’t help it.” Sal looked smug. “A cop stealing a car.”

 

 

“I’m not stealing it. I’m borrowing it. It’s not like she won’t get it back.”

 

 

“Yeah. That’s right. You, me, and Jackie - we just ‘borrowed’ money. I shoulda thought of that for my defense.”

 

 

"It's not my fault you guys were crooks," Ray shot back. He didn't want to think of the trial or be reminded of anything he had done while working for the FBI.

 

Sal gave a half smile, but said nothing. Instead, he tugged at his tie and loosened the top button of his shirt. The collar spread open.

 

And Ray saw the ligature marks. _That's how he did it. He hung himself_.

 

Fuck, he couldn’t think about that. About Sal, the big bulk of him crammed into an eight-foot by eight-foot supermax prison cell, eating food from a tray slid under the door, as he waited to be executed…

 

 

Waiting for the needle, to be put down like a dog.

 

 

“God, Sal. Can you just fuck off while I do this? I gotta concentrate.”

 

 

He looked up, but Sal was already gone. Blinking, Ray focused on the next stage of his job, and removed the access panel beneath the steering wheel.

 

 

It had been decades since he’d hotwired a car – _gee, Pa, thanks for teaching me that one thing –_ but it didn’t take as long as he’d feared, and he didn’t electrocute himself. That was a good start... God, he remembered Pa showing him that time, at Tortelli’s garage, and the guys all laughing their asses off, and saying he was a natural, like it was something to be proud of. Even worse, he remembered actually being proud, until Pa smacked Ma across the face when they got home. She made the mistake of asking why they’d been out so late, and then Ray made the mistake of stepping in front of her. They both ended up with bloody noses, and Ray ended up with a black eye. So Pa never brought him to a guy’s night out at Tortelli’s again, because he was a ‘Mama’s boy.’

 

 

_Well, look at me now._

 

 

He settled in the driver’s seat, and made himself forget about Pa. The engine was running smoothly, and he kept the pressure on the pedal, gentle and soft, as he put the car in reverse. _‘Remember not to stall it, Son, they’re bastards to start up again, when you don’t have the key.’_

 

 

He’d thought of ditching the car at Union Station, but O’Hare was more remote and the car would remain hidden for longer. As he approached the parking lot he wiped his face – there was a security camera. He didn’t want anyone noticing the crying guy after all. Checked himself in the rear-view mirror. Looked okay. Ray kept his face as anonymous as possible going in. Parked three quarters of the way back, grabbed his bag, and looked around.

 

 

Sal was waiting by his next car, sitting on the hood. Ray said nothing, just broke into the damn thing. It was as easy to get into as the first. 

 

 

“Face it, Mando. You’re on a crime spree.”

 

 

“You’re back then.”

 

 

“Miss me?”

 

 

“Whatever,” Ray said with a shrug as he turned the ignition. He wasn’t about to admit he was lonely to Sal’s ghost. He pulled up to the exit booth and handed over his ticket with a wad of cash. The cashier took the payment without looking up from her paperback novel.

 

 

Four hours later, halfway to Memphis, Sal spoke up. “This one smells too.”

 

 

“No it doesn’t.”

 

 

“I’m telling you, something died back there.”

 

 

“You’re still smelling the cats.”

 

 

“It’s not cats.”

 

 

“Look, Sal, leave it.” Ray’s nose wrinkled up instinctively. “It doesn’t smell.”

 

 

Sal shrugged, and pointed at the fuel gauge. “You’re running low on gas.”

 

 

“Yeah. I can see that.” Ray sighed, and pulled up at the nearest station. Sal had an amazing tendency to state the obvious. _Hungry,_ he thought, as he filled up the car. He kept his head ducked down so he wouldn’t be caught on any security cameras.  With his hat pulled down over his ears, bundled up in Tony’s parker he was fairly sure he looked anonymous, but – could he risk buying himself food?

 

 

“Go on, Mando. This place is safe enough,” Sal reassured him. “Besides, I can feel your stomach growling from here.”

 

 

“Okay.” With a sense of relief, Ray bought himself a burger and a six pack of Bud _. It’s not like it’s real booze,_ he justified himself. _I’ll have to wait till I’m over the border for that. Right now I just need something to take the edge off._

 

“We good to go now?” Sal was bouncing on his heels impatiently.

 

“Yeah, we’re good to go.”

~*~

 

The radio in this car sucked. It was stuck on some golden oldies channel, and was almost worse than sitting in silence waiting for a ghost to keep him company. Damn, he needed something to distract him. He wondered, for a moment, how long it would take the Feds to catch him. Or the Mob. Whoever caught him, they’d probably put a bullet in his back long before he got to Benny.

 

 

 _Don’t think like that._ He put his death out of his mind – he’d gotten good at that in Vegas – and paid attention to the road.

 

 

“Hold on Benny,” he said aloud. “I’m coming.” The sound of his own voice was comforting. If he didn’t look at the passenger side he could imagine Benny, sitting primly in his uniform, Stetson balanced on his knees, about to lecture him on driving etiquette. Ray grinned. “But first I gotta head south,” he added. “Throw them off my track. Hell, maybe they’ll think I’m going to Florida…” He fell silent. Yeah… that would work. Half the family was down there, after all. And Stella. _Maybe they’ll think I want to reconcile with my wife and family,_ he thought, _or some of that Disney shit._ It caught in his heart a little bit, a pain he hadn’t allowed himself to feel since he left Florida. _God, I fucked everything up with Stella…_.

 

 

No. Not toward Florida. Not even to confuse the Feds. But yeah… go south. The Feebies might think he was heading somewhere else entirely, some place they’d find it really hard to catch him. He couldn’t let them guess he was going to Canada.

 

 

“Okay, so they know I’ve worked it out about Kowalski,” he continued aloud. They’d done the same thing to Sal, after all. The guy had been walking around thinking Ray was his best friend, and he’d just been one ‘them.’ “Well. I’m not with ‘them’ anymore,” he muttered. And now the fucking Feds were doing it to Benny, and _oh God, poor Benny._ He deserved better. He was walking around thinking Kowalski loved him, like he’d been walking around thinking Victoria loved him, and…

 

_Oh – for God’s sake._ There in his rearview mirror, he saw it. He rubbed his face with the back of his hand to clear his eyes – No. He wasn’t imagining it. A black Sedan.

 

 

He cursed, and slapped his hands on the steering wheel. Ridiculous. Could they have picked a more obvious looking car to tail him in? He wondered - was Johnnie driving? _Don’t look over your shoulder – don’t let them know you’ve spotted them._ He slowed down, and slid out of his lane, keeping an eye on the rearview mirror. They’d be forced to overtake at some point –

 

 

Oh – shit. He nearly missed it. He saw the sign for St Louis coming up ahead, and abruptly sped up, swerving onto the ramp, making an illegal U-turn. Benny woulda hated it. Someone blared their horn, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that the Feds couldn’t react in time. He’d lost the tail.

 

 

He allowed himself a moment to smile as he watched them recede in his rearview mirror, and vanish out of sight. _Ha. Don’t play a player._

 

 

 _So, calm down,_ he told himself as his heart rate returned to normal. _It’s not all bad, I got some things on my side. They don’t know how fucking stupid I am. They know I know about Kowalski, they think I’m heading south. They won’t guess I’m gonna find Benny anyway._

 

 

Ray knew this was a mistake, knew he was retarded, even to risk it – but someone had to do it. Someone had to warn Benny that his boyfriend wasn’t what he seemed to be. _God. Poor Benny. Every time he falls in love, it’s with some evil bitch or bastard who hurts him. When the hell is he gonna catch a break?_

 

~*~

 

They were in Misourri, heading toward the wheat fields of Kansas, when Sal spoke up again. “This is taking a hell of a lot longer than you said it would,” he grumbled.

 

 

“What the hell are you complaining about? It’s not like you have to stop for a whizz.”

 

 

Sal folded his arms across his broad chest.

 

 

Ray clenched his jaw. “And it’s not like I invited you for a road trip,” he pointed out. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

 

 

“You tell me.”

 

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

 

“It means, you tell me. You’re the one with the answers.”

 

 

“What are you, a fortune cookie?”

 

 

Sal quirked a smile at that, but kept silent.

 

 

“What’s the point of being dead if they don’t tell you anything useful?” Ray glared through the windscreen at the road ahead of him. Sal was right though – this was taking a lot longer than he'd expected. There had been a change of plans when the Feds turned up after they dumped the second car. He was way off his original route and trying to make up the time.

 

 

“Oh, for God’s sake, not again.”

 

 

“What?” Sal glanced at him and frowned. “What’s wrong?”

 

 

“We’re being followed.”

 

 

“Really?” Sal’s eyes shot up, and he twisted in his seat to stare out the back window.

 

 

“Don’t look!”

 

“It’s not like they’re gonna see me.”

 

 

Ray conceded the point with a grunt. “So, what you see then?”

 

 

“Whole lot of cars. You are on a road, you know.”

 

 

“I mean, you see that van?”

 

 

“What van? That one? That’s just a van.”

 

 

“I thought you were a bad ass mobster. Don’t you know a tail when you see one?”

 

 

“Mando,” the ghost said, settling back in his seat, “you’re paranoid.”

 

 

“Shit.” Ray glanced back in the rearview mirror. Sal was wrong. That van had been two or three cars back for the last twenty minutes. “How the fuck do you not see that?”

 

 

Sal snorted. “I see it. It’s just a builder’s van.”

 

 

“Yeah. Right. Alright for you – they can’t arrest you.” Ray clenched his jaw and swung into the slow lane. “Never thought I’d be the one the cops are after, that’s all.”

 

 

“Just like old times, eh, Mando?”

 

 

Ray didn’t bother to reply. He looked out the corner of his eye as the van swept past them. Fall leaves scattered in its wake, fluttering against the windshield like multicoloured rain. Ray put the wipers on for a moment.

 

 

“You know, you look like shit. You gotta pull up somewhere, get something to eat,” Sal urged.

 

 

“I know that,” Ray snapped.

 

 

“Just saying.”

 

 

“I’ll eat when I’m hungry.”

 

 

God, he didn’t need this. Feds on his tail, a ghost making like Ma and trying to get him to eat, and that fucking smell… He cranked the window open, so the air would wake him up, and blow the stink out of the car.

 

 

They went west. “New plan,” Ray said, as they merged onto the 170-W. “We’ll shake anyone on our tail, and head to Kansas and Omaha.”

 

 

“You’re the boss,” Sal said, with a nasty smile. Ray bit his tongue, and didn’t say another word for the next fifty miles.

 

 

They were on the fourth car when Ray pulled up at a roadside diner for an honest to God meal.

 

 

“You look dead on your feet,” Sal said, a little bit smugly, as Ray parked.

 

 

“Yeah, very funny.” Sal had a point though – Ray probably looked worse than the ghost by this stage. “I’m gonna get something to eat.”

 

 

“You want to eat at a diner? It’s a bit public, isn’t it?”

 

 

Ray shot him a sharp glance – maybe Sal was right –

                     

 

No. The ghost was laughing at him. “I’m messing with you,” he said, and clapped his shoulder. “We’re in the back of beyond, who’s going to see?”

 

 

“Very funny.” Ray stomped out of the car, and slammed the door. If he didn’t stretch his legs and get a breather he was going to go stir-crazy. And he wouldn’t mind sitting with some actual human beings, if only for as long as it took to eat fast food.

 

 

“God, that is so good,” Ray said, as he took a bite of his cheeseburger. Ma would kill him. He was talking with his mouth full. He glanced at Sal, realizing that the ghost looked almost as hungry as he felt. “You want some?”

 

 

Sal picked fries off his plate, and ate them, with a wistful expression on his face. “You know what’s funny? I whacked a lot of people, but I never thought about being dead before.”

 

 

“Yeah?” Ray huffed a bitter laugh. “Well, I thought about it every day in Vegas.”

 

 

Sal nodded, and stared at Ray’s burger. Ray shifted, slightly uncomfortable under his gaze.

 

 

“So, what’s it like, being dead?” He took a swig of his coffee. “I mean, you think about it, you gotta when you’re a cop, but I don’t know what it’s really like.” He’d wondered, of course, but it’s not like he could have asked Armando or Pa.

 

 

“Nobody tells you that you’ll be hungry all the time,” Sal admitted. “Or that you never get to sleep.”

 

 

A feeling of dread uncurled in Ray’s stomach. Was this what he had to look forward to? “Maybe that’s because you were a bad guy.”

 

 

“I got no idea.” Sal dunked a fry in Ray’s ketchup, and sneered. “Like you were such a good guy anyway.”

 

 

Ray hid his face behind his coffee mug. “Look, can you just leave it? I only did what I had to do.”

 

 

Sal opened his mouth, as though about to respond, when a child’s voice broke in. “Mom, who’s that man talking to?”

 

 

Ray turned his head. A boy with a close-shaved afro was staring at him. His mother hissed. “Quiet, Jack. Don’t bother the man.”

 

 

Ray flushed, then glared at Sal. _God, I can’t even eat a meal without him showing me up._ He stood, threw his money on the table, and marched out the door.

 

 

After that he avoided diners. He’d drive a few hours at a stretch, and then he’d jerk awake, parked on a barren stretch of road, or by some abandoned warehouse – _Shit._ And here he was again. Seemed like he kept waking up to find himself stranded in a parking lot on the outskirts of God knows where. Kansas City, Omaha, Des Moines. And every damn time, he’d think, _how the fuck did I get here? What time is it? What fucking day is it?_ He’d blink, remember what was going on, and start up again.

 

 

The first time he woke up to discover he’d driven back to Illinois it was funny. Sal was sitting in the passenger seat laughing his ass off at him when he figured out where they were.

 

 

“This is not how you get to Canada, Mando.”

 

 

Ray took the laughter in his stride, for once, and grinned at his own craftiness.

 

 

“It’s good though, Sal,” he pointed out when the ghost stopped laughing. “It’ll throw the Feds off our tail.”

 

 

“Yeah, right. It damn near threw _me_ off our tail.”

 

 

Ray shook his head, still grinning, and put the car in drive.

 

 

After that though – after that it stopped being funny. He couldn’t seem to get where he wanted to go. Even though he was really trying to focus, he kept forgetting what he was doing. He was going to see Benny, he knew that, but when he was really tired he wasn’t sure if Benny was in Canada or Chicago. Sal was no help on those occasions, staring out the side window, his face a shadowed profile, unreadable and stark.

 

 

_Why don’t I just go to the Canadian Consulate?_

 

 

He was at a drive-through when he thought that, and once he’d paid for his food he turned the car round, headed back to Chicago for the… third? Fourth time. Then, he remembered again. _They burned down the consulate, that’s why._ Fuckers… they’d burned down something anyway. They’d done it to fool Benny, so he’d go work at the new place, where they could watch him. But now Benny was in Canada, and that’s where Ray had to go, to warn him.

 

 

“You shouldn’t eat that,” Sal said, gesturing with his thumb at Ray’s food.

 

 

“Why?”

 

 

“They put something in it,” Sal stated. “You ever wonder why you’re so stupid these days?”

 

 

Ray stared at his half-eaten burger. Either Sal was ‘messing with him’ again, trying to drive him mad and starve him to death, or he was right.

 

 

Maybe that _was_ why he was so stupid. That was why he’d forgotten Chicago wasn’t safe. _Last time I go to a drive-through,_ he thought, wound down his window, and threw the rest of his poisoned food along the side of the freeway.

 

 

Eighty miles later, Sal spoke up again.

 

 

“You’re telling me you can’t smell that?”

 

 

“Shut up, Sal.” Thing was – he could. Sweet, rotten…

 

 

“Something died back there.”

 

 

“You say that about all the cars. They can’t all stink.”

 

 

“You should look in the trunk.”

 

 

No _way_ was he looking in the trunk.

 

 

But he could almost feel it – a weight in the back of the car. A slight shift in the suspension when he went over a bump in the road.

 

 

_Shit. I’m gonna have to get another car._

 

 

One night he came to himself and it was sleeting. He was driving slowly, because the wipers on this damn car weren’t working right… the window was half-bleared with snow-slick water. _Squeak, squeak, squeak_ – even the sound of the wipers was maddening, and how hadn’t he noticed that before? He couldn’t even remember what car he was driving. He could see the lights of the other cars gleaming through the rain, and… he was approaching the state line.

 

 

_What state line, where the hell am I? What am I doing on a major road? They’ll see me._

 

 

"It's alright, Ray," a soft female voice said from the passenger seat. He glanced to the side and...

 

... and then he jerked the steering wheel hard.

 

Tires squealing, the big car fish-tailed, a plume of water in its wake as momentum threatened to send it careening into the median. Ray fought for control and won. He slammed on the brakes and eased over to the shoulder. Hands trembling, he put the car into park and shut off the engine.

 

Irene. Or...no. Sarah. 

 

Hannah.

 

Nothing. 

 

The car was empty, silent except for the slight pinging sound coming for the overexerted engine and the rattle of rain on the roof.

 

"Get a fuckin' grip, Vecchio," he said, inhaling and exhaling slowly until his breathing was back to normal. Then he turned the ignition, started the car, and eased back onto the deserted highway. 

 

“Leave me alone." He spoke to the emptiness that surrounded him. “I don't want you. If you loved me, just...leave me alone.”

 

~*~

 

 

“What are we doing back in Illinois?”

 

 

Ray started awake. He’d fallen asleep with his head on the steering wheel. God – how long had he been out? He turned to the voice, and relaxed to see the familiar ghost of Sal. “I don’t know,” he admitted. Sal looked disapproving. “We’ll head back to Des Moines, how’s that?”

 

 

Sal hunched his shoulders, as though he could feel the cold. “Don’t fuck up, Mando,” he said, and then thankfully fell silent.

 

 

At Naperville, Ray ditched the car. It was running low on gas anyway, and he was running low on money. And… dammit, _what the fuck is wrong with me?_

 

 

Next thing he knew, they were on the outskirts of Chicago again – this time as close as the suburbs.

 

 

_Holy fucking shit._

 

 

“Why the hell do you keep driving back to Chicago?” Sal was shouting now. “That’s the first place they’ll look.”

 

 

“I don’t know. Why aren’t _you_ any fucking help?”

 

 

“Why should I help you?” Sal looked at him squarely. “You killed me after all.”

 

 

“You killed yourself!” Ray yelled, and put his foot down, driving too fast down the freeway. _Shit, slow down. You’ll draw attention to yourself._ He tried to control his breathing – didn’t work. He was sweating and wheezing. _Fuck._ “I did not kill you.” _Yeah, but I killed everyone else…_ “God almighty.” _Calm down, stop shouting, people are looking…_ Ray slapped the steering wheel. “What the fuck is that _smell?_

 

 

Sal’s face was a mask. “Look in the trunk, Mando.”

 

 

And the dead bastard was gone. Leaving Ray alone in a car that stank of rotten meat and lilacs.

 

 

_I am not gonna look in the trunk._

 

~*~

 

Someone was kissing him. It was off somehow – cold where it should be warm, but –

 

 

He opened his mouth, and something slithered in. Tongue. Cold, heavy – wrong. He pulled back and opened his eyes.

 

 

Hannah leant over him, her hair hanging in a wet and ragged curtain, framing her leaden face. Her lips were blue.

 

 

“Hey, Babe. Open the trunk.”

 

 

When he stopped screaming, he got out of the car. The smell was getting stronger. Meat gone bad.

 

 

He’d known all along it would come to this.

 

 

He even knew what was back there.

 

 

Jackie. Jackie lay curled in the trunk, fixed in rigor-mortis, dressed as Ray had last seen him, in boxers and a wife-beater shirt. His face was grey, and as dead as Hannah’s; plastic looking. Hole in the forehead. Without touching him, Ray knew that he would feel cold, like chicken meat fresh from the refrigerator. Without moving him, he knew that the back of his head was a jagged, ragged hole, oozing blood and brains.

 

 

“That’s what the smell was,” Sal said, at his shoulder. Ray jumped. “I told you to look back here.”

 

 

“This isn’t my fault.” Ray managed to speak. “You asked me to do it.”

 

 

“That’s true,” Sal conceded, staring at his brother. “But I was wrong. He was telling the truth. You were FBI.”

 

 

“Yeah,” Ray stared at the corpse. “But he betrayed Mando. He killed Mando.”

 

 

“You betrayed us all,” Sal pointed out, in strangely gentle tones. “You killed me. You put me away.” He laid a heavy hand on Ray’s shoulder, as though to reassure him. It felt like a slab of butcher’s meat. “Mando – you must have known I’d get the death penalty.”

 

 

“Yeah,” Ray admitted, under his breath. Sal cocked his head. “Yeah,” Ray repeated. “So what? You were a crook.”

 

 

“Weren’t we friends?” Sal gave a sad smile.

 

 

That was it.  “What do you want me to say?” Ray yelled, “That I’m sorry?”

 

 

Sal said nothing.

 

 

“Look, I’m sorry. That what you wanna hear?” The words blurted out of Ray in a torrent. “I’m sorry for all of it. I’m sorry you were an evil prick who ruined people’s lives. I’m sorry I pretended to be Armando. Sorry I deceived you, okay? I’m sorry I loved you. I’m sorry I killed your brother, and… everyone. I’m sorry.” He swallowed. “But I’m not sorry you’re dead. Even if you’d waited for them to execute you, it’s still your fault you’re dead. You were the criminal. Your blood is on your hands. Not mine. Okay?”

 

 

Silence.

 

 

“Okay?”

 

 

Sal was gone. The trunk was empty.

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

 _Well, look on the bright side, nobody’s gonna be looking for me here,_ Ray thought, as the latest heap died. He stared at the stubbled wheatfields, shorn of their crop, and sighed. Looked like he was lost in the ass-end of nowhere. At least he was still heading north. He tried to start the car up again – no hope. _Shit._ He rested his head on the wheel. He should’ve known when he saw this damn thing it wasn’t up for the job. He must’ve just thought it was a crappy car nobody would look at twice. Turned out, it was a crappy car nobody but an idiot would drive.

 

 

_You’re a shit car, but we had a good run._

 

 

He’d lost count of the cars he’d been through since Kentucky. God, how long ago was that? Felt like he’d been driving forever. But he knew he’d wiped everything down, on every car he’d taken. He couldn’t have left any clues, could he? He knew where perps left fingerprints, how easy it was to relax and forget…

 

 

 _Shit,_ he thought again, as he hid the wiring and reattached the access panel under the steering wheel. He didn’t like leaving this on the open road. They would figure out he’d hotwired it, but if he hid the evidence, it would slow them down. _Shit, shit, shit._ He began wiping the dashboard down for prints, looking for stray fibres. He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering Jackie joking, putting a paper hat on his head before they killed Skoulodis. Before _he_ killed Skoulodis.

 

 

_I wasn’t there. That wasn’t me. I wasn’t me. Keep cleaning…_

 

“You know when I’ve got the side window down,” he told the car as he cleaned it, “and I’ve got my elbow on the gangster lean, and the breeze blows through, you know? And I’m an idiot, I forget what I’m doing. So, I think I’m just going for a drive, and then I look down, and there’s my fingers, curled up on the dashboard and relaxed like… like I’m an idiot. Like that. And now I gotta clean the prints. ’Cause I’m a fucking retard.”

 

 

The car didn’t say anything, and Ray didn’t expect it to – the only reason he was talking to it was that he hadn’t seen Sal in what felt like a long time, and he was lonely. And a bit worried – sometimes he heard himself talking, and he sounded like a crazy guy. But if he didn’t keep talking, he might forget how to string a sentence together, so he tried again. “And, you know, then there’s the ones I can’t help. I mean, tapping the rear-view mirror – I gotta do that sometimes. You see that, don’t you? And I can’t wear these damn gloves all the time. They itch.” They really did – he was wearing the gloves now, and his left palm was itching like crazy. “So, there’s gonna be prints. It’s not all my fault…” He stopped talking. He heard himself, again, and knew what it sounded like. _I’m not crazy._

 

 

“No wonder your owner didn’t lock you,” he said spitefully as he abandoned the car. “He probably wanted someone to steal you.”

 

 

He stretched his legs with a sense of relief. Even so, he kept checking himself, making sure he had everything. A few days back, Sal had a brain wave, and Ray sewed his remaining money inside the lining of his parka jacket. He could feel it crinkling when he crumpled it, so he knew he hadn’t lost that. His backpack still had its first aid kit, sewing kit, knife and tools.

 

 

No flashlight. _Shit. I musta lost the flashlight._ Too late to worry about that. He’d just have to hope there weren’t prints on it… or the fucking battery. He hadn’t changed the battery, had he? He remembered buying a battery in a hardware store, when he got more insulation tape. _Shit, yeah… No._ He couldn’t remember.

 

 

There was nothing he could do about it. He was being conscientious about prints, so he’d just have to hope… He was okay. _Stop panicking. Okay._ Back to the inventory. So he’d lost the flashlight. Fine. He’d get a new one. No fresh socks though. Damn. He been washing them out at service stations, but last time some guy started banging on the door. Only one pair of clean underwear left. Ma would have a fit, the ones he was wearing could probably stand up by themselves. He tried not to snigger and failed.

                                                       

 

 _Okay, I’m fine. Spare clips are in my inside pocket and…_ He patted his hip, even though he could feel the familiar comfort of the gun by his side. _Yeah, she’s loaded._

 

Fine. He was fine. When he got to town he’d have to stop checking himself, and his backpack and his gun. Someone would notice, for fuck’s sake – but right now it was calming him down. He was ready for anything.

 

 

 _Damn. No I’m not._ He’d left most of a sandwich on the hood of the car. He was hungry now... But not hungry enough to go back after it. It would be too much of a risk anyway, for half a sandwich, and by now the crows probably had it. ~~~~

 

The first motel he came to, he fished around in his jacket and pulled out – shit. All he had left was a couple of tens. It was a crappy cheap dive, though – maybe he could afford it. He’d be able to shower, sleep in a bed… it was worth the money just for that. He leant on the counter wearily, and planted his money in front of the cashier.

 

 

The woman looked at him, looked at his money, and looked back at her soap opera. “Sorry,” she said through a mouthful of chewing gum. “That’s not enough.”

 

 

Ray stood up, stared at the nearly empty car park, and raised his eyebrows. _You’d think they’d be glad of any paying customer._ “I’m only a couple of bucks short.”

 

 

“Yeah, well. Sorry.”

 

 

She didn’t look sorry.

 

“Thank you kindly,” he said, in his most insultingly polite voice. “Have a nice day.” Turned round and kept walking.

 

By the time he got into town, his socks were wet. After a while, he realised it was because the blisters on his feet had broken. Damn… he was running out of plasters. He wished he still had his old shoes. He couldn’t remember now why, or when, he’d switched them.

 

 

He knew this town, sort of. Had he been here once? Or was it just one of those towns? _I’m in Hicksville._

 

 

Place was quiet. He quite liked quiet, he needed quiet, but not too quiet. Where could you hide in a place like this? For the first time he was out in the open, without even a car to cover him. _I need to find some place to sleep,_ he thought. It suddenly hit him, what he must look like, the _real_ reason the woman in the motel turned him away.

 

 

“Oh God,” he said, and stopped abruptly. _What happened? How did I get here?_ His legs folded, and he sat, right in the middle of the sidewalk, overwhelmed by a sense of despair. _I don’t know where the fuck I am. What the hell am I doing?_ He lay down on his side, facing the store fronts, cradled his arms across his chest, and let his eyes drift down. _Not shut. Don’t close your eyes. Don’t be in the dark._ He saw feet go past, some of them pausing, most of them speeding up as they went by. He could hear cars behind him, up and down the road.

 

 

It started to rain. After a while, it stopped.

 

 

“What’s wrong with that man?” Some kid’s voice. Little Tony? Didn’t sound like him, but maybe it was. Had he ended up back in Chicago somehow? He wanted to go home.

 

 

“Tony? Is that you?”

 

 

“Come on, Peter, don’t look at him.” No. Not Tony. The kid was too little anyway. Why was Ray thinking of Tony?

 

 

“Maybe he’s sick.” An older woman. Ma? God, not Ma. She sounded nothing like her, her vowels were all wrong. Was he in Canada already? No… He’d have noticed. “Someone should call an ambulance.”

 

 

“Don’t give him your coat, Molly, he’s just some vagrant.”

 

 

Not-Ma replied, “It’s just a coat.”

 

 

“You won’t be able to wear it again, he might have something.”

 

 

“Leave it, Tom. You oughta be ashamed. And you call yourself a Christian.”

 

  
“Well, that’s your good deed for the day. Come along now.”

 

 

Silence, for a while, and then other voices. He couldn’t make out the words at first. And then he heard…

 

 

“Someone should call the cops.”

 

 

The speaker was a woman and she wore high heels with pointy toes. They were the kind of shoes Frannie might wear, totally inappropriate for the weather. That is, if Frannie was still alive. But Frannie was dead; they'd killed his sister. 

 

_Didn't they?_

 

The woman was walking away from him. He could see her shoes, hear them tap tapping against the pavement. It couldn't be Frannie. Frannie was dead.

 

 

 

“Sir? Sir?” He opened his eyes, squinted up. Middle-aged woman, uniform – _Jeez, just what I need. A cop._ “Are you alright?”

 

 

That’s right. He was running from the Feds, not his family. She wasn’t a Fed though, they didn’t wear uniforms. _Cops aren’t the enemy._

 

 

“You’re not a Fed,” he managed. His throat hurt. It dawned on him that he was thirsty. Last thing he’d drunk was orange pop, when he risked stopping at a gas station, seventeen dollars ago.

 

 

“No, Sir,” she said, and squatted down next to him at a cautious distance. “I’m not a Fed.” She leaned slightly forward, and sniffed.

 

 

“I’m not drunk,” he tried to reassure her.

 

 

“Okay,” she smiled, obviously trying to mollify him. “Are you ill?”

 

 

“Tired,” he said.

 

 

Jackie’s voice echoed in his head. “You’re always fucking tired,” he snarled.

 

 

“Oh, God.” Ray knew the voice wasn’t real – he’d left Jackie in the trunk of a Chevy a billion miles back, but there that voice was, in his head. “Just stay dead,” he pleaded with it. “Or whatever the fuck you are. Just leave me alone.” The cop jerked back, her eyes narrowing slightly, then her radio chirped. She spoke into it.

 

 

“I have a five-one-fifty on Franklin. Could be a problem.”

 

 

That woke him up. With one hand on the sidewalk, Ray pushed himself into a sitting position. He blinked hard and, with effort, made sure his voice was calm. "I'm not a five-one-fifty." The last thing he needed was to be tasered into submission and wake up in a cell somewhere. Then the Feds would get him for sure. “I’m not some crazy guy. I’m a cop.  I’m just tired.”

 

 

She glanced over her shoulder, as though for backup. _Where the hell is her partner?_ Oh. In a small town like this she maybe didn’t need one. She smiled at him again, a little shrewdly.

 

 

“You’re a cop? Where’s your badge, Sir?”

 

 

“Oh. Well.” He coughed, embarrassed. “I used to be a cop.”

 

 

“Ah.”

 

_She doesn't believe me. No surprise; I wouldn't believe me either._

 

 

Her radio chirped again.

 

 

“Look, tell ‘em it’s okay.” _Shit._ Just his luck if they found the car and connected it with him. _Grand theft auto won’t go down well._ “Dispatch,” he said, raising his voice so they could hear him on her radio. “Dispatch, you hear me? You don’t gotta pull me in. You don’t pull in a five-one-fifty unless they’re a threat to themselves or others. I’m not a threat. I’m not crazy. I’m just tired. I’m going now.”

 

 

He couldn’t make out what the guy was saying on the radio, but he answered anyway. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get in anyone’s way.” God, he hoped he hadn’t got the cop in trouble. “Tell her captain it’s okay. I just lay down in the wrong place. I’m going home now.”

 

 

He managed to stand, wobbled, and the cop caught his arm. As she steadied him, a woman’s raincoat slid off his shoulders. It lay on the sidewalk and he stared at it, unable to remember where it came from.

 

 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Sir?” The cop looked suspicious. Ray gave her his best smile.

 

 

“Yeah, look, I’m sorry. Just dumb. Just one of them dumb things.”

 

 

She nodded, but he wasn’t buying it. She might be happy to bustle him off her sidewalk and forget about him for a little while, but she would still be writing him down in her notebook. Soon as she was back at her desk she’d be filling in the paperwork.

 

 

Still, he’d better warn her. “Listen,” he pointed a finger at her. “If the Feebies ever ask you to do anything, tell ‘em to stuff it where the sun don’t shine.” Her eyes widened, startled.

 

 

“You were really a cop?” She seemed uncertain.

 

 

He put a finger to his lips. “Remember I told you about the Feds.” He turned, and started walking. He was doing pretty well. Limping still, but at least he was heading in a straight line. He crossed the road at a slight diagonal, so he could see her reflection in the store windows for a little longer… she was watching him. Well, of course she was. Though she’d probably decided he was a harmless crazy. At least he hoped so.

 

 

He lost her reflection for a little bit, had the sense not to keep checking… after a couple of minutes, he figured it was safe to look over his shoulder. She’d gone.

 

 

 _Okay,_ he thought, wearily. _So now I gotta get outta this town. Not her fault, but I made way too many ripples here. Report might stay buried for a little while, but it will float up to the top at some point. And then the Feds will find it._

 

At least he could go into a store though. God Almighty, he was thirsty. Hungry too, but really, really thirsty.

 

 

The guy in the store looked at him like he was something from under his shoe, but at least he served him. They had a sale on litre bottles of pop, so he got two, ’cause that’s what he could fit in his backpack. He got a family size bag of tortilla chips, and a big bag of M&Ms. _Kowalski wouldn’t eat that crap if it was poisoned, would he?_ So they had to be safe. He thought of getting another sandwich, and his belly growled, but you couldn’t really tell what was in them. The soda was okay, the tamper proof thingies were still sealed on the bottles. And the chips were safe enough to eat. Benny had told him one time about how they used some kinda gas in chip bags to stop them going off. What did he say… normal air would make them oxidise or something, so they used, nitrogen, or hydrogen… no. That was for bombs. But whatever it was, it kept the chips fresh, and stopped them being squashed.

 

 

So the chips were fine, and the soda was fine, and the damn chocolate too…

 

 

“Anything else, Sir?”

 

 

 _Shit. The guy just had to ask._ Before he could stop himself, he was looking at the booze behind the counter.

 

 

He went blank. When he came back to himself he was still staring at the bottles on the back wall, and the shopkeeper caught him looking. The man’s lip curled slightly with contempt.

 

 

_Oh, fuck it all, he despises me anyway. I’m a wreck anyway. Besides, it will help me sleep._

“Yeah,” he said, and pointed. “Bottle of Jack.”

 

~*~

 

 

Not, of course, that he was stupid. He knew he couldn’t drink it right away. Instead, he chugged half a bottle of soda, and wow, that felt good, not to be so thirsty. The sugar helped too – he felt more focussed and energetic than before.

 

 

Now, he had to figure out how to get out of Hicksville Bumfuck, or wherever the hell he was. And then, if he was lucky, he might find a roof over his head, just so he could get some sleep. Up until now he’d been sleeping in cars. Okay, he’d been expecting a knock on the roof, some cop pointing a flashlight through the window asking him if he had his papers for this heap… which would have been end of the line, ‘you are busted, do not pass go, sorry son, you’re dead,’ but he had at least had somewhere to sleep. He hadn’t actually been a vagrant until now.

 

 

 _What would Benny do?_ He giggled. He’d kept thinking that in Vegas, and it sounded just as wrong here as it had done there. Like some sort of bumper sticker, somewhere in the Bible belt… Yeah, well. It was obvious what his friend would do. Benny would go to the library.

 

 

The library was easy enough to find. Maybe he’d never been here before, but he’d been to small towns like this, and the library was right where it always was, next to the post office. Ray didn’t like being out in the open like this, but he couldn’t see anything that made him immediately suspicious…

 

 

The little old lady behind the counter looked like ‘Granny’ on Looney Tunes, the one who owned that irritating little tweety bird. Ray remembered watching cartoons with Benny, explaining that you had to root for the cat, or sometimes the coyote. Benny, of course, played along with him, pretending to be confused by American customs. Well, he had Little Tony fooled.

 

 

_‘You never saw this before? Did you get Tom and Jerry growing up?’_

_‘I’m sorry, Tony. We relied on puppetry and shadow theatre.’_

 

 

Ray chuckled to himself, as he sorted through the shelves, looking for the right map.

 

 

There it was. Finally.

 

 

He struggled a little as he unfolded it, then struggled some more with the Xerox machine. He resisted the urge to kick it – _oh yeah. I’m not at work, I don’t get free copies._ He had to pay the damn thing.

 

 

Carefully, he counted his change, stacking it on the lid of the photocopier. _God, I don’t know how long I’ve gotta make my money last… Shouldn’t have bought the damn whisky._ He wiped the prints off the coins before pushing them in the slot.

 

 

When he looked around, ‘Granny’ was watching him.

 

 

“What?” he snapped. “What are you looking at?”

 

 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to pry. I just noticed you counting out your pennies.”

 

 

 _Nosy old bitch –_ he nearly said it. _God, I’m yelling at little old ladies now._ “Hey,” he said, embarrassed. “I shouldn’t a shouted. And, uhm…” He scooped up his remaining coins, put them in the pocket of his jeans. “I know what this looks like, but I’m not poor. I mean, I’ve got money.” Not that he had much left now, but he’d figure out how to get more.

 

 

“That’s fine, son. Nothing wrong with being frugal. You look after your pennies, they look after you.”

 

 

Ray started laughing, overwhelmed by a rush of relief. He was having a conversation with an actual human being for the first time in… _God knows._ “Hey, you remind me of Nonna.”

 

 

“Who?”

 

 

“My Ma’s Ma. That’s the sorta thing she’d a said.” He grinned, remembering. “That woman could make a dollar stretch to five.”

 

 

‘Granny’ smiled. “I was going to lock up for half an hour, take my lunch break,” she said. “Would you like to join me?”

 

 

“Uh…” He blinked. What was her game? “That’s really kind, but I gotta go somewhere.”

 

 

“You can have a cup of coffee first,” she said. “You look tired.”

 

 

 _I am tired,_ he thought, and braced himself, in case Jackie showed up. He didn’t.

 

 

“Yeah,” he sighed. This woman didn’t just remind him of Nonna, she reminded him of Ma with her insistence that he eat. “Yeah, I’d love a cup of coffee.”

 

 

He ended up sitting at the front desk, drinking sweet coffee while she unwrapped ham and salad sandwiches. He lifted a slice of bread and poked at the meat and mayo, until he realised he was being rude.

 

 

“You’re not Jewish, are you?”

 

 

“No,” he said, embarrassed. He couldn’t tell her he’d been suspicious of her food. _This little old lady ain’t gonna poison me._ “Thanks,” he added, and took a bite.

 

 

 _God Almighty, that’s the best damn sandwich I’ve ever eaten._ He paused for a moment, and stared at it. Lowered his head, so she wouldn’t see the expression on his face.

 

 

They ate in companionable silence, then she said. “My name’s Gwen. What’s your name, Son?”

 

 

“Stan,” he said. _Kowalski stole my name, might as well steal his._ He reached over the desk, and shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, Gwen.”

 

 

“Nice to meet you, Stan.” She gave him a twinkly smile. “So, you look like you’ve had a hard time. Is there anything I can do to help?”

 

 

“I’m fine. I mean…” He gestured at the crumbs. “You already done enough.” Actually, now that he thought of it, she’d done more than enough. She’d fed some crazy guy off the street. The only other person he could think of that insanely hospitable was Ma. Well, Benny too, of course. He looked at her, suspiciously. “Why’d you feed me?”

 

 

She blushed. “Jesus said to love your neighbour, and you looked hungry.”

 

 

Ray sat back and stared. He hadn’t seen that one coming…

 

 

Before he knew it, he was wheezing with laughter, grinning, and slapping his knee. She really was embarrassed now, but although her cheeks had pinked up further, she didn’t look away.

 

 

“I’m sorry,” he said, when he got his breath back. “I’m not laughing at you. I mean, I am, but not in a bad way.” He patted her hand. She must be so used to people sniggering at her born-again crap, but she went ahead and said it anyway, because she thought it was the right thing to do. Just like Benny trying to save every waif and stray who came his way. At least he knew now she had no evil motives. “Just, you really do remind me of Nonna. She didn’t go about Jesus, not the way you do, but she was always praying for our eternal souls.” He wiped his eyes. “I mean, Ma’s bad enough, but Nonna Esposita?” He shook his head. “She never stopped. ‘God is Love’ and all that.”

 

 

“Well,” Gwen said, and she was smiling again. “He is.”

 

 

“Yeah,” Ray chuckled. “And I got the sore knuckles to prove it.”

 

 

Gwen raised her eyebrows, and he grinned, grabbed the sugar spoon. “You see this here?” He pointed to the handle. “This here’s a ruler.” He raised the pitch of his voice and put on his thickest New York accent, imitating Sister Bernadette. “’Repeat after me, Vecchio –‘” He thwacked the back of his hand with the spoon. “’God,’” thwack, “’is’” thwack, “’love,’” thwack.

 

 

When he looked up, she wasn’t laughing. “I’m sorry,” she said, gently. “They shouldn’t have done that.”

 

 

“Yeah, well.” His smile went cold. “I’ve done worse things.” There was a moment’s silence.

 

 

“God, sorry…” Suddenly he was ashamed of himself. He’d sat here, talking this poor woman’s ear off, and she had to get back to work. It was a small town, but surely somebody would come along soon, and want to borrow a book? He looked up at the clock. “Listen, I should go now…”

 

 

“Before you go, is there anyone you’d like to call? Family? They must be worried about you.”

 

 

 _Oh, shit._ He lifted his hand, and covered his face. Family. He kept trying not to think about them… Ma having to share the house with the Frannie Thing, the kids…

 

 

“Yeah,” he said. “I’d like to call ‘em, but…”

 

 

“But what, Stan?”

 

 

He had to tell someone, even just a little bit. It came out in a jumbled rush. “Someone’s after me, and they killed my sister, and if I go home they’ll follow me, and then they might kill the kids.” Shit. He’d said it. He felt dizzy and strange in the head.

 

 

“You have children?”

 

 

“My sister’s kids,” he explained, calming down.

 

 

“When did your sister die, Stan?”

 

 

“When… I don’t know. When I was away. When I came home they’d changed her for someone else.”

 

 

She sat back, and looked at him. He couldn’t read her expression. Did she believe him? It was hard to tell. Maybe this kind of thing happened a lot, and people were too scared to say it. Maybe she knew someone this had happened to before…

 

 

_Maybe she just thinks I’m a five-one-fifty._

 

 

“You told me a bit about your mother,” she said. “Is she still alive?”

 

 

 _God._ Ray jerked. “I… I think so. She was when I left. You don’t think…”

 

 

She made a gentling gesture. “Don’t worry, I’m sure she’s fine. Do you want to give her a call? I’ll let you use the phone.”

 

 

He stared at it. “But if they hear, they’ll know where I am, and then they’ll…” Shit. He couldn’t think. They’d do something. “I can’t call.”

 

 

“How about, if you wrote a letter? I’ll make sure your mother gets it.”

 

 

He scrubbed his face. That might work… He wouldn’t send it home, he’d send it care of Father Behan. The Feds wouldn’t be watching him, and Father Behan could pass the letter on to Ma.

 

 

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay. Thanks, Gwen.”

 

 

By the time he’d finished his letter, he was feeling much better. She stamped the envelope for him, walked him to the door, and kissed his cheek. She smelled of talcum powder and roses, and little old lady. She smelled like Ma.

 

 

“Go safely, Stan,” she said. “I’ll pray for you.”

 

 

 _You and Ma both._ He gave a painful smile and lifted one hand in a wave, but didn’t say anything as he left. There was nothing to say.

 

~*~

 

 

It was a detailed map, thank God. It took him a couple of hours to get to the trucking station – woulda been quicker, but a police car slowed down as it went past him, and he could’ve sworn the cop looked. If he was the cop he would’ve done. So then he had to cut across some fields, or they’d have sent someone else. He’d be too easy to pick up on the side of the highway, and he’d drawn enough attention to himself today. By the time he got to exit 44, his feet weren’t just wet – he knew for a fact his right foot was bleeding.

 

 

He waited a while, to be absolutely certain nobody was watching, then walked amongst the haulage trucks. One of them had to be going in his direction…

 

 

And there it was. He grinned his head off. Big red truck. Damn thing even had a maple leaf on the side, like a message from God. Ray looked up and down, double checked nobody could see him, then lifted the flap on the side of the truck, and hopped in. Someone must be looking out for him, because he didn’t even have to pick a lock or break and enter. The back was full of mattresses. Wrapped in plastic, tied up in bundles, stacked up high, but at least it wasn’t all pallets. He’d been dreading corners and sharp edges. _I’m actually gonna be halfway comfortable…_

 

 

He climbed over the mattresses, found a gap, squeezed himself down the other side, and tucked his head between his knees. _Please God,_ he thought, _don’t let us be stopped at customs._

 

 

Nothing he could do about it though. He knew he could have carried on walking, just crossed over to Canada in a field somewhere, but he was bone-tired, and his feet were killing him, and at least… at least there was some kinda roof over his head.

 

 

When the truck crossed the border to Canada he was so deeply asleep that he didn’t even notice.

 


	7. Chapter 7

“Oh shit. What the fuck?”

 

 

Ray opened his eyes, disoriented by the abrupt voice waking him. For a moment he thought – hoped – it was Sal who was standing over him, looking concerned. But the figure blurred and shrank. Still a big guy, but a different kind of big – fat, where Sal had been muscular. Sal’s curls had been immaculately groomed, and going elegantly grey. This guy’s black hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Definitely not Sal. Looked like one of Fraser’s Eskimo friends, now he thought of it… _Inuit. Don’t call ‘em Eskimos, they don’t like it._

For some reason, the poor bastard looked like he was having a heart attack.

 

 

Ray sat up and groaned. “Where am I?

 

 

“Where do you think? At a trucking stop just out of Winnipeg.”

 

 

“What am I doing here?” Ray blinked, trying to come back to himself.

 

 

“Don’t ask me.” The guy stepped back, hand on his chest. “Scare the crap outta me, why don’t you? Get the fuck outta my rig. Jesus, I turn my back for a minute and I pick up stowaways.”

 

 

“Sorry, I… uh… I just needed somewhere to sleep.”

 

 

“And you saw all the mattresses, and figured you’d sleep in here?”

 

 

Ray grinned sheepishly, and got to his feet. Somehow the back of the truck was much emptier. How had he managed to sleep through it when they started unloading?

 

 

“Yeah, something like that. Sorry.”

 

 

The guy rolled his eyes.

 

 

Suddenly the penny dropped. The guy said they were in Winnipeg. “Hey, am I in Canada?”

 

 

“Yeah, you’re in Canada.”

 

 

 _Thank you God._ He grinned. “Cool.”

 

 

“Are you on something?”

 

 

“Nah, sorry.”

 

 

The guy stood back and shook his head. His initial shock had worn off and he sounded angry – more annoyed than anything. “I thought you were dead for a minute.”

 

 

“I don’t look that bad, do I?”

 

 

“Not that bad, but I gotta say, you scared ten years off me.”

 

 

“Sorry.”

 

 

“Yeah, yeah. Go on,” he jerked his thumb. “Beat it before my boss gets back.”

 

 

“Okay.” Ray grabbed his bag. “Thanks for the lift.”

 

 

The guy rolled his eyes. “Everybody’s a comedian.”

 

 

Ray hopped out of the truck and looked around to find his bearings.

 

 

 _I’m outside Winnipeg,_ he thought, looking at the signs. _Cool._ He checked his compass, and smiled. _At least,_ he thought, as he started trudging toward the city lights, _I’m still heading North._

~*~

 

 

At some point between the truck stop and Winnipeg, he lost his shoes. The last thing he clearly remembered was sitting on the side of the highway, as the traffic rushed by, and trying to bandage the heel on his right foot. _‘I can’t put these fucking shoes back on,_ he thought, _it’ll hurt too much.’_ And then he was nearer to town, and his feet were still killing him, but he wasn’t on I-75 anymore, and the trucks weren’t trying to kill him. He was walking on the grass verge, and at least he had his socks on. And he couldn’t stop laughing, because – _‘mother nature ate my shoes,’_ and it was too damn funny not to laugh.

 

 

And then… he didn’t know. It was like someone took a bite out of his memory, and he had no idea how he got from there to here.

 

 

Here he was though, in some kinda community hall, standing in line with a bunch of other scruffy sad sacks like himself, and _oh my God, I’m homeless._

 

 

A skinny woman, about Ma’s age, with unconvincingly hennaed hair and absolutely no eyebrows at all was serving food through a kitchen hatch. He stared at her, and she nodded encouragingly, pushed a tray at him. A plate, with a baked potato, split in two. Knob of butter melting in it, and she was ladling chili on top. A sprinkling of cheese, a dollop of coleslaw, and a spoonful of sweet corn. “Here you go, Stan.”

 

 

He stared at her, stunned. _I’m not Stan,_ he wanted to say, but for a horrible moment he wasn’t sure who he was. _Didn’t I used to be somebody?_

 

 

“Thanks,” he mumbled and took the tray.

 

~*~

 

 

There were metal pitchers full of water up and down the trellis tables, and metal beakers. Ray was about to pour himself some water when the guy opposite him grabbed his hand. Ray jerked, and pulled back, the bench squeaking, tried to grab for his gun _(not there, where the fuck is it)_ but the guy let go, and put his finger to his mouth.

 

 

“You gotta let the nutters do their thing first, okay?”

 

 

“Oh.” His heart rate started to slow down a little bit. He was still frightened because he couldn’t remember where the gun was, but at least this guy wasn’t about to kill him. “Oh, sorry. Yeah.”

 

 

He bent his head, while some guy at the top end of the hall droned on. On either side of him his fellow diners shuffled impatiently, hands clasped together, pretending to pray. _This is worse than elementary school._  

 

 

 

“The food’s gonna go cold,” the guy opposite muttered.

 

 

“Who cares,” the guy to his right said. “I just wanna eat.”

 

 

 _God Almighty, how much more of this shit do I have to sit through? I gotta find my gun._ Ray patted his clothes, urgently. His backpack was on his shoulder, he couldn’t look in there yet – not until he was somewhere private. But… _oh God._ _Where’s my gun, where’s my…_ His left hand hit the weight of it, hidden in the lining of his parka.He clasped his hands together to stop them from shaking, rested his head on his knuckles. “Thank God,” he mumbled, as one of the volunteers walked past. She smiled. Poor bitch probably thought he was praying.

 

 

The big guy droned on some and finally said “Amen.” The word was echoed round the tables before everyone began eating.

 

 

Ray had nearly cleared his plate when he realised he hadn’t once thought of the food being contaminated. He paused, stared at the remnants of baked potato and chili con carne.

 

 

_Why aren’t I worried?_

 

Then he remembered.

 

 

_’Cause I’m in Canada, and nobody knows I’m here and we’re all eating out of the same pot …_

 

 

Yeah, so that was why he was feeling better. The food wasn’t poisoned anymore. He still didn’t know quite how he’d ended up eating dinner in a mission hall, but somehow, he’d lucked out and dropped completely off the grid. _The Feds musta lost the trail when I crossed the border._

 

 

So, time to assess his pros and cons. Pro: Canada was big. A great place to hide in, so he was safe for now. Con: Canada was big. Way, way too big, and he still had to get to… to get to… Benny was right at the other end of the country, somewhere up North. Ray knew he couldn’t phone his detachment and find out exactly where, but he reckoned if he got to the cabin, Benny’d turn up. Some of the locals would remember Ray from last time, and he’d ask them to get word to his friend.

 

 

_So, now I gotta figure out how to get to the Yukon._

 

 

First things first though… he had to get his strength up. He realised he’d been ill – he’d caught sight of his reflection in a window, and got the fright of his life. He didn’t recognise the guy, looked ten years too old. No wonder he didn’t feel like himself.

 

 

_The Feds won’t recognise me either though, that’s another pro._

 

 

So, yeah. Stay round town a few more days, get some more square meals down him, wait till his feet healed up a bit more. If nothing else, he needed a new pair of shoes. Someone had bandaged his feet, and they were feeling a lot better, and he had new socks – but he didn’t fancy traipsing to the Yukon in a pair of trainers. He stared at his feet, wondering who the hell had looked after them for him.

 

 

He didn’t sleep well that night – there were ten cots in this room, five on either wall, and seemed like every homeless guy talked in his sleep. He was just as bad – he woke himself up shouting, twice. The mattresses were uncomfortably sweaty because they were plastic under the sheets, and he wasn’t the only person in the room who smelled bad. In the far corner, opposite right hand side, one man was crying under his breath. The teenage boy on his left hand side woke up in the middle of the night, and hid under his cot. Ray stared at the ceiling, and wished he’d got a spot up against the wall, so he could turn his back to it for protection, and keep the rest of the room in sight. He’d remember next time.

 

 

Eight o’clock, and they were all kicked out for the day. Beans and bacon roiled uncomfortably in his stomach, but he managed to keep them down. He tried to remember how he’d been spending the days, and came up blank.

 

 

At nine o’clock the church doors opened, and he went to find some clothes. He wouldn’t have known it was a church if someone hadn’t told him. The room was neutral; there were no images on the wall, no pews. A bunch of tables, like it was a café, with chairs around them. Little piles of Bibles sitting hopefully, waiting to be taken. A projection board. He tried to imagine what Sundays were like… couldn’t really picture it.

 

 

When he’d found some clothes one of the teenage volunteers came up to offer him a cup of coffee, and ask him if he’d said ‘the Sinner’s Prayer.’

 

 

“The what now?” As soon as he said it he realised it was the wrong thing. The girl looked delighted, and launched enthusiastically into some obviously pre-prepared spiel, which came, for some reason, with a supporting booklet and bunch of leaflets. _What’s she trying to do, sell me timeshares in Christ?_ Ray started backing away, his new clothes tucked under his arm, looking for the exit. The first chance he got he darted out the door.

 

 

He’d been going to use a backroom at the church to get changed in – now he was gonna have to find somewhere else, where he could do it without getting arrested. Damn. Even so, he had something positive to plan for. He was really looking forward to wearing something clean.

 

 

By twenty after eleven, he’d finally found a restroom he could use. The people at the bus station ignored him, which was fine by Ray, and he waited till the disabled toilet was vacated. The old man coming out in the wheelchair gave him a dirty look as he squeezed past him and shut the door, but he couldn’t help it. He had to change somewhere. _He probably thinks I’m in here doing drugs._

He cleaned up as best he could, standing at the sink, squirting liberal amounts of liquid soap on his hands, and scrubbing his armpits. _God,_ he thought, looking at the heap of paper towels he’d used to dry himself. _That’s disgusting. How did I get this filthy?_   He shrugged his way out of his clothes as quickly as he could, dragged the new ones on before he could get too freaked out. Looked at the clothes he’d discarded, kicked them into a corner out of the way, and wrinkled his nose. _I really do stink._

 

 

The only part of his old outfit that he kept was his parka. Sure, it smelled, but it was warm, he was used to it, and it was a good place to hide his gun. Just as well he’d hidden the damn thing though – that was the main thing. He could always get more money. If they’d found the gun on him, he’d be in jail by now, and the Feds would be on their way. It was harder to get to his weapon, hidden in his coat, but it was safe. He was safe.

 

_Fine, Vecchio, you’re doing fine._

_Except everyone round here thinks I’m Stan Esposita._

Well, that meant he’d been around long enough for people to think they’d got to know him. Judging from the improvement in his feet someone had been looking after him for a little while. He was still missing a bunch of days though.

By one o clock he was wandering aimlessly through the streets, and his legs hurt from the soles of his feet all the way up to the small of his back. He had the feeling he’d been doing a lot of walking lately.

 

 

By two o clock he was standing in a park, wanting to enjoy the peace and quiet, but feeling freaked out by the big green spaces instead, and wondering who might be standing behind the fountain, or listening from the trees.

 

 

By quarter to three he was sitting on a bench near a taxi rank. There was a guy on the opposite side of the road, selling french-fries and hotdogs from a stand. Ray kept trying not to think about the food. He had nearly gone to see if the guy would accept US cash, when he realised that might give him away. He’d better keep it in his pocket.

 

 

He hugged the coat around him, even though it wasn’t all that cold, and watched the pigeons. He had no bread, so they ignored him.

 

 

Five after four, a woman walked past, and threw coins at his feet. He blinked. “Hey,” he called after her. “I’m not begging.” She hurried her steps and didn’t look his way.

 

 

He stared at the coins. Canadian money. Funny money. The Feds wouldn’t be tracking that. He looked across at the hotdog stand. He was hungry…

 

 

No, if he waited another three hours, he would get a meal anyway, at the mission hall. Save the money for something else.

 

 

_I could call Ma._

 

 

The thought was so loud in his head that he turned around to see who had spoken… No. Just him. And besides, he couldn’t call Ma, someone would hear him on the phone, track it back to him. But…

 

_I can call Father Behan. Tell him I’m okay, find out how she is…_

 

 

The idea seized him. He was suddenly, overwhelmingly, desperately homesick. He leant forward, scooped the coins off the sidewalk, and went to find a payphone.

 

~*~

 

 

“Raymond!” Father Behan’s voice was large with relief. “Thanks be to God. Are you alright, Son?”

 

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Ray was embarrassed. He hadn’t thought the priest would be so upset about him. “I’m fine. I just thought you could tell Ma I’m okay. How’s the family?”

 

 

“They’re fine, Raymond – they’ve been worried. We all have. In fact, your sister’s here now.”

 

 

“Sister?” _God Almighty, which one?_

 

 

“Maria. Let me get her…”

 

 

 _It must be a Wednesday,_ he realised. _She’s at the preschool group with Vito._ Ray leant, shakily, against the wall of the phone booth. _Thank God it’s not the Frannie Thing. Then I’d really be in trouble._

 

 

“Ray?” Maria’s voice, squeaky with fright. “Ray, what the hell? Where are you?”

 

 

“I can’t tell you that,” he said. “You know I can’t.”

 

 

“Ray, please don’t do this. Just come home.”

 

 

He spoke as calmly as possible, so she could tell he was being reasonable, and stop freaking out.

 

 

“I can’t come home yet, it’s not safe. You know not to let Frannie feed the kids, right?”

 

 

“Ray,” she sounded clipped, almost angry. “Do you know what this thing’s done to Frannie? She keeps crying. She can’t believe you’d think such bad things about her.”

 

 

“I don’t think bad things about Frannie,” Ray said, and his calm persona slipped. “I love Frannie, you know that. But that… thing’s not Frannie.”

 

 

He pushed another coin into the machine _(damn, damn, damn, shoulda wiped the prints)_ and fed the silence on the phone. After a moment Maria sighed. “I’m just so glad to hear from you. Tell me where you are, so Fraser can find you.”

 

 

“Benny?”

 

 

“Yeah. He’s looking for you.” She sniffled, and he realised she’d been crying. “Just as well you guys saved the world from nuclear submarines,” she added. “Anyone else who ditched work like that wouldn’t have a job to go back to.”

 

 

“What do you mean?”

 

 

“I mean, the minute you went missing he went looking for you.”

 

 

“He can’t have,” Ray said, startled. “I mean… I’m looking for _him.”_

 

 

“Yeah?” Her voice brightened a little. “Are you in Canada? He thought that’s where you’d be. We’ve been looking for you everywhere – they even started looking in Nevada, when you didn’t turn up in Florida, but Fraser was sure. Even before Minnesota…”

 

 

 _They’ve been looking for me in Nevada? They? The Feds…_ “How do you know about Minnesota?”

 

 

She paused, spoke cautiously. “Ray, you remember? You met a librarian named Gwen, you wrote a letter…”

 

 

“Oh, yeah…” His heart rate calmed down again. For a moment he had thought Gwen might have betrayed him, then he remembered that she’d promised to mail his letter. That was how Maria knew he’d been in Minnesota. Father Behan got the letter, he told Ma, Ma told Maria…

 

 

“Anyway, Fraser’s been trying to find you for weeks, Ray.” She sounded disapproving. “When he called earlier, he was in Winnipeg.”

 

 

 _Oh, shit. He’s here._ “Maria,” he said, and his voice cracked with panic. “That’s not Benny.”

 

 

Silence, for a second, and then she was shouting at him. “Do you hear yourself, Ray? Of course it’s him. And I’m me, and Frannie’s Frannie, and you’re you. When the hell are you coming home?”

 

 

Ray’s hand was sweating on the phone, and he couldn’t think of anything to say. It wasn’t like Maria to freak out like this. He musta really upset her. He could hear Father Behan talking to his sister, a gazillion light-years away, in Chicago, and Maria was crying and it was his fault.

 

 

And then Father Behan was talking to him again.

 

 

“Raymond? Raymond, are you still there?”

 

 

“I shouldn’t…” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have called. Tell Maria I’m sorry.”

 

 

“Raymond, Son, don’t worry. Now, if you can tell us where you are then –”

 

 

“’Bye, Father,” he said. “Tell Ma I’m fine. I’m sorry.”

 

 

He hung up, and started walking again.

 

~*~

 

 

So, the Benny Thing was coming for him now, was it? He knew they’d send someone, but he hadn’t expected that. What happened to the real Benny though? Was this because of something Ray had done? Hadn’t done? Had he tipped them off, somehow? _This is my fault. I didn’t try hard enough. I didn’t get to Benny in time._ He stumbled slightly, realised he probably looked drunk. Which was ironic, because he wasn’t, and really wanted to be. _Shit._ _Don’t cry, people are looking._

 

 

Maybe they hadn’t killed Benny yet. This might be like all the other times he thought they were dead, him and Benny in peril of their lives. Benny might be locked up somewhere, waiting to be saved.

 

 

 _I need to get my backpack,_ he remembered. _Idiot_ – he had hardly anything in the world, and he still managed to forget something. He’d been hugging the thing to him for weeks, and then, like a loser, he’d left it at the church. Must’ve been when he ran away from that teenager. He paused for a moment, gnawing his lip, then sighed. _I’ll have to risk it._ He couldn’t remember what was in the bag, but some of it was probably important. It did still have the tools in it, and he’d need them, at least, if he was gonna get another car. So, yeah… he’d go, find his bag, then try to figure out where they might be keeping Benny.

 

 

If Benny was alive.

 

 

 _Maybe,_ he thought, and it pierced him with hope, _maybe he’s with the real Frannie. Maybe she’s not dead either…_

The church was locked, so he went round the back, and knocked on the mission house door. That door wasn’t locked, so he just walked in. Someone was chopping onions, and he followed the smell. The woman who’d served dinner last night was setting up in the kitchen.

 

 

“Stan,” she said. “We don’t open up for another few hours.”

 

 

“Yeah,” he said. “I know. I’ve just come to get my bag.”

 

 

“Are you going somewhere?”

 

 

“No,” he said. She seemed harmless enough, and she’d been kind, but he didn’t know if he could trust her.

 

 

“You don’t need your bag before dinner, do you?”

 

 

He narrowed his eyes. He had to be careful here. If he was in too much of a rush she’d realise he was planning to leave. “Well,” he prevaricated, “it’s got all my stuff in it. I left it in the church. I wondered if you could let me in? I’ll only need a minute.”

 

 

“Can you wait till later? I could do with some help,” she said, and gestured at the heap of ingredients. “Please?”

 

 

It was obvious she was playing him, but he couldn’t figure out why. Either she was trying to keep him where she could watch him, or – well, maybe she just wanted to make sure the crazy homeless guy stuck around for another meal. He couldn’t tell.

 

_What the fuck do I do? Make a run for it, or play along?_

 

 

He couldn’t go without his bag. He’d never get another car without it.

 

 

 _The Benny Thing won’t be looking for me in a soup kitchen,_ he thought. _It knows I’m heading North – probably figured out how I got across the border, so it’ll be looking for me at truck stops_.

 

 

Besides – he was hungry. And there was something so familiar, so friendly about being asked to help cook dinner. _Make a decision, moron – stay or go?_

 

 

His stomach growled, and made his mind up for him. _It’ll give me time to regroup,_ he told himself. _Think of a new plan. Maybe get on a train without anyone noticing…_

 

 

“Yeah, okay.” He went to the sink, and washed his hands. “Where do you want me to start?”

 

Whatever she was called, she was a nice woman, chatty once she got going, but not a great cook. Not that it was entirely her fault… the ingredients didn’t help, though he ate them when she wasn’t looking. Chunks of plastic-tasting orange cheese, raw mushrooms that weren’t half bad, slightly wilted carrots _(how do you wilt a carrot_?) and pepper _– God Almighty, I’m half-starved here, and that red pepper’s still rank._ Huge tins of tomatoes, as big as saucepans, and ground meat that Ma wouldn’t have touched with a barge-pole. _‘I don’t trust that colour, Caro, you know sometimes they add beetroot to make the meat look fresh when it isn’t?’_ The meat didn’t smell off, exactly, but even though it was bright red, it didn’t smell fresh.

 

 

_Maybe that food’s not as innocent as it looks…_

 

 

“Definitely beetroot,” Ray said, sniffing.

 

 

“What did you say, Stan?”

 

 

“Nothing.” It was just food from the bottom of the barrel, that was all. It wasn’t poisoned. Why would it be? He forced a smile at the woman. Not her fault they had no money and had to buy the cheap crap. _I should get the guys at the station to do a fundraiser like we did for St Mike’s… hang on._ That thought didn’t seem to make sense. There was some reason he wasn’t talking to the guys from the station – oh shit, yeah. He was on the run. He shook his head at his stupidity. He was getting a headache.

 

 

“We’re gonna need a lotta garlic,” he changed the subject as he stole a mushroom. He suspected she knew what he was doing, and for a weird moment it felt like he was Dief, snaffling donuts, and she was Fraser, pretending to be oblivious.

 

 

 _God, Benny. Where are you? he_ thought. _Not dead. Don’t let him be dead…_

 

 

His mind flinched away from thoughts of Benny. What the hell was that woman doing to dinner now?

 

 

“You don’t cook the cheese with the sauce,” he declared, stopping her before she could tip an entire basin of grated cheese into the simmering tomatoes. “Wait till you’ve cooked the pasta, drain it, stir in the cheese with the pasta, then you add the sauce.” Not that it would make much of a difference with plastic cheese and the pasta boiled to glue, but they should at least _try,_ shouldn’t they?

 

 

“Whatever you say, Stan,” she said. “Can I at least add sugar?”

 

 

“I don’t suppose you got molasses, do you?” he asked, as much to wind her up as anything.

A little bubble of unexpected happiness was rising in his chest as he worked – where did that come from? What was he not thinking about?

 

 

 _Actually, that sauce ain’t bad._ Though the mushrooms should have been put on at the same time as the pasta, and cooked separately, to stop the flavour from running out with the juices. _You can’t have everything,_ he thought, and found himself singing as he stirred. _German. Why am I singing in German? I don’t even speak German._ He laughed as he realised. _Oh yeah, Schiller and Beethoven…_

 

“You like classical music?”

 

 

“Yeah.” Ray’s mouth went dry. Why was she asking? “My friend does.”

 

 

_Did._

_God. How could I forget?_

 

 

“Tell me about your friend.”

 

 

Ray looked at her sideways. _Why does she want to know about Benny?_

 

 

He stopped singing. He scraped the meat into the tomatoes, and didn’t say another word. She carried on trying to chat for a while, but his sullen mood finally dampened her enthusiasm.

 

 

Dinner was simmering in a huge pot when Ray wobbled and grabbed hold of the sink to steady himself. The woman looked at him, concerned.

 

 

“Are you alright, Stan? You just looked a little pale.”

 

 

“I’m fine,” he snapped, realising that he wasn’t fine at all. Fuck. He was tired.

 

 

“You can rest in the dormitory,” she said, as though she could read his mind. He looked at her suspiciously.

 

 

“Why are you being nice to me?”

 

 

“Well,” she pointed out, “you’ve been a real help.”

 

 

“Yeah, thanks,” he muttered. Maybe he could trust her. Shit. He had to trust somebody. And now that she’d mentioned he could rest, he realised he was still sore from all that walking. _I’ll just lie down for a minute_. He had to figure out how to get to Frannie and Benny if they were still alive, but he’d do it after dinner, when he was rested. He’d get his bag after dinner...

 

 

He was almost asleep when he heard them. Voices. He didn’t catch the start of the conversation, but…

 

 

“…Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP. I’m looking for my friend, Raymond Vecchio? I don’t suppose he’s been here, has he?”

 

 

Ray jerked awake. That… that sounded like Benny.

 

 

“No, we don’t have a Raymond Vecchio,” the woman said. “But a lot of our gentlemen don’t give their real names. Is he in some kind of trouble with the law?”

 

 

“No, no. I’m not here in an official capacity. He’s not in any trouble.”

 

 

“I see.” She paused, he could hear her feet shuffling. She’d been telling him about her swollen ankles, he remembered that they ached. “Do you have a description?”

 

 

“Well, I have some photographs, though he’s been missing a while. I imagine his appearance might have changed.”

 

 

A silence – he could just imagine her putting her glasses on, looking at the photos. “No,” she said. “I’m sorry. I don’t recognise him. I mean, he looks a little bit familiar, but it’s not something I can put my finger on.”

 

 

 _Thank you God._ Either she was lying to save him, or she really didn’t recognise him. Whatever it was, next time he had any money, he was sending that woman flowers.

 

 

“He’ll probably be bearded by now.”

 

 

“A lot of our gentlemen are.”

 

 

The thing that sounded like Benny sighed. “My friend injured his hands,” he said, “in a fire. Did you notice if one of your guests had scars on the palms of his hands?”

 

Ray got to his feet, carefully, rummaged in the lining of his parka, and pulled out his gun. Checked the bullets, flipped the safety off. His heart was beating hard, but he was fine. He just had to get through the next five minutes.

 

 

“Oh,” she sounded happy. “You mean Stan.”

 

 

“Stan.” The Benny thing made a weird noise like a laugh, only with all the happiness sucked out. _Damn thing puts on a good show, but it don’t laugh like Benny._ “Yes, of course. He has been going by Stan.”

 

 

“Yes, Stan Esposita. I really should have recognised his eyes.” Ray could hear clattering… She must be at the sink, doing the washing up. “I’m so glad you came. He was quite confused when he started coming here, and we considered alerting the hospital, but he was never violent. He did get very agitated at one point, when we encouraged him to wash – I think he thought we were going to undress him or something. But other than that, he’s been no trouble.”

 

 

“He’s been ill?”

 

 

“Yes. Mainly dehydration and self-neglect – his feet were in a very bad state, and he hadn’t been eating enough –” The Benny Thing made an urgent noise, partway between a grunt and an ‘oh.’ The woman reassured him. “Oh, don’t worry! I don’t mean to scare you. Our volunteer doctor checked him out, and he’s a lot better now. You know, he talked about you, when he was worse. I wasn’t sure if you were dead.”

 

 

“He was talking about me?” The Benny Thing sounded wistful.

 

 

“Yes. You and his sister. I have to ask. Is his sister dead?”

 

 

“No. No, his sister’s fine.”

 

 

“Oh, I’m so glad. And, obviously, you’re not dead either. I mean, I assume you’re the Benny he meant. He said you were in some kind of danger, but then sometimes he said that he’d shot you. We did think he might have been a soldier, actually, that maybe you’d served together in a war. You know, we get a few PTSD cases coming through.”

 

 

“Something like that,” the Benny Thing said. “He’s a decorated police officer. In fact, he saved my life, several times.” It sounded a little choked up. “He took a bullet for me, twice.”

 

 

The woman made soothing noises, and the Benny Thing cleared its throat. “When do you open your doors again? I mean, do you know when he’ll be coming back, or if not where else I might find him?”

 

 

“Oh good heavens, what am I thinking? I’m so sorry! He’s here now. In fact, he’s sleeping in the next room. He was just helping me prepare dinner.”

 

 

Footsteps getting closer. Ray stepped back into a Weaver stance, then realised his right hand was shaking. _God, what a time to forget how to shoot straight…_

Breathe. That’s all he had to do. Just breathe.

 

 

The Benny Thing opened the door.

 

 

“Ray,” it said – and then it saw the gun. The bright smile of recognition died on its face.

 

_How dare it smile like Benny?_

 

Ray tightened his jaw, firmed his stance. Behind the Benny Thing, the woman had gone white. Ray jerked his head.

 

“You’re not involved,” he told her. “Get out.” The woman turned, and fled.

 

The Benny Thing approached him cautiously, hands held up. Not in fear, not in surrender. More of a white flag, a ‘don’t shoot,’ gesture. A signal of ‘peace,’ perhaps, or an ‘I won’t hurt you.’

 

 _Don’t be afraid._ Was that in his head, or had the enemy said it? For a moment he hoped it was Armando… Armando sounded just like him. But Armando had abandoned him, as he deserved. This voice was his enemy, and his enemy lied.

                                                                                             

“Ray, Ray, Ray…” The Thing sounded so soothing, so like Benny that, for a moment, Ray doubted himself. His focus faltered, and the gun drifted down. “Ray,” the creature said, taking another step toward him. “It’s alright, it’s going to be alright.”

 

“No,” Ray found his voice. He wasn’t going to be deceived. Not now. Ray had deceived all Vegas. No lie could get past him.

 

The Benny Thing inched toward him, and Ray tightened his grip on the gun, felt his finger twitch on the trigger.

 

“Get back,” he croaked. “I don’t want to kill you.” God, he didn’t want to kill anyone else, ever again, not even this Thing, whatever it was. _I will kill it though,_ he vowed, fiercely. _This is the Thing that stole Benny’s shape. It killed Benny, it deserves to die…_

 

“Ray,” the Thing said, moving fractionally forward.

 

“Get back.” Ray gestured with the gun, and the Thing froze. “What did you do to the real Benny?”

“I am the real –”

 

Ray squeezed his trigger finger, and shot a hole in the wall, to the right of the Thing’s head. The Thing went silent and pale.

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Ray hissed. “I’ll kill you if I have to.”

 

The Thing’s breathing hitched, slightly. Its face betrayed no fear, though Ray could see its chest moving, shallow and tight.Ray knew fear, when he saw it _._ _God, do I know fear._ He felt himself smile, cruelly.

 

“Yeah, you should be scared,” he told it. “Murderer.”

 

“Ray,” it said, “I’m not a murderer. Neither are you.”

 

“Fuck off,” he screamed, and his throat hurt it was so loud. “You Benny killing bastard!” He shot again, on the other side of the Thing’s head. “You don’t know what I am.”

“Ray,” it said, and its voice was broken. “You’re a good man.”

 

“I’m a…” How damn wrong could this Thing be? Why was Ray trying to explain himself to it anyway? Even if it had been Benny, there was nothing he could say.

 

_Murderer, monster, liar._

 

“Ray,” the Thing said, and its voice ached in Ray’s head, it was so familiar, and so dear. “Ray, it’s me.”

 

For the first time it dawned on Ray that the Thing might believe what it was saying, might really think that it was Benny. Ray had deceived everyone, after all, even himself. The Feds did that, they made you forget who you were. Maybe they’d taken some poor bastard off the street, and turned him into this abomination.

 

The Thing edged closer. How like Benny, to just step in front of a gun.

 

“No,” Ray whispered.  “I’m the world’s best liar, you think you can lie to me?”

 

“It’s me,” the Thing insisted, “your friend.” It swallowed, and its face contorted with grief. “Ray, I’m your friend. I’m your best friend.”

 

“No,” Ray said, and his grip on the gun didn’t even shake. “You’re not my friend. I have no friends. I killed them.”

 

“Ray,” Benny said, and closed in, “I’m still here. I’m always here.”

_Oh God. Benny._

 

For a heartbeat, Ray knew it. He was pointing his gun at Benny.

 

“No.” Ray shook his head, fiercely, to get rid of the lie. Not Benny. The Thing. “No, no, no. You’re not you. I’m not me.”

 

“I’m me, Benton Fraser. Benny. You’re you, Ray Vecchio.”

 

What if the Thing was telling the truth, what if it really was Benny?

 

_I can’t do this, I can’t shoot him again… oh God._

Was that real, that memory? Shooting Benny in the back? 

 

“Ray.”

 

Somehow the Thing was so near it could touch him. Its hand was reaching out for his, and it was looking at him with aching compassion.

 

 _Brother,_ Ray thought. _He’s my brother._

 

He hadn’t seen Armando in years.

 

_I can’t kill someone, not again._

 

Without even thinking about it, he turned the gun, pointed it at himself. Benny let out a cry, and grappled with him. The gun went off.

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

He was definitely dead. What other explanation could there be? He must have died before the cops arrested him, because he could hear them walking around, talking into their radios - and yet, no one read him his rights. Then he heard some sort of medical talk, like the ambulance guys had turned up. Shame they’d turned up too late. Benny had been holding him, which was nice, felt safe, but now someone was moving them apart. Well, of course they were. Now that they were dead, they were going to different places. He’d never see Benny again. Maybe when Armando died, they’d let him hold Chiara for a moment, before she went to heaven, and he went to hell.

 

He wanted to say something – something useless, something hopeless, even though it wouldn’t help. _‘Sorry,’_ perhaps, or _‘I didn’t mean to,’_ but he couldn’t move anything; not his head, not his lips, not his tongue. Once you were dead, things were set in stone, they taught him that at school. Had he had a chance to repent before he fired the gun? He couldn’t remember. He hadn’t had a chance to confess.

 

Maybe this was the start of his punishment, to know what he’d done wrong, and never even be able to tell Benny that he hadn’t meant to. He couldn’t do anything, couldn’t even see through his eyes. They were open, he knew that, there was light coming in, but he couldn’t make sense of what he saw. All the figures were huge silhouettes, walking around like giant chess pieces. Being dead was weirder than he’d thought it would be.

 

Benny didn’t seem to know they were dead yet. He was saying, “he’s not a threat, he’s perfectly safe.” An angel who was talking like an EMT guy said, “you’re bleeding, Sir,” which was how Ray knew he’d shot Benny. And even though he’d killed Benny, again, Benny was trying to make excuses for him. Benny should hate him. Why didn’t he hate him for what he’d done? Even though Benny was pleading for him with the angels, Ray knew that he was going to hell.

 

Benny was sounding frustrated though, as if he thought he could talk their way out of it. What he was saying didn’t make sense. “It’s just a graze, really.” _Don’t be silly, Benny,_ Ray thought _. It’s not a graze. I shot you, that’s why you’re dead._   “He wasn’t trying to shoot me,” Benny continued. “He had the gun pointed at himself.” Which was true, actually, and how fucked up a loser was he, that he couldn’t even kill himself?

 

Only he hadn’t fucked up, because somehow he actually was dead. And he wasn’t even in hell, because he hadn’t seen Armando or Pa or Sal yet. Hadn’t seen Jackie. Maybe they’d be along for him later. But maybe… maybe he’d be lucky, and Benny’s good word would help. That had to count for something with God, right? If the guy you murdered forgave you, it must count for something.

 

He wished he hadn’t done it to Ma though. It would break her heart that he’d committed suicide. And he wished to God he hadn’t killed Benny.

~*~

 

But then… then he woke up, and he knew he wasn’t dead. His mouth tasted bitter, and he needed to piss.

 

 _Oh God,_ _not again. I’m in the hospital._

He wasn’t on life support, though, or oxygen, or any machines or monitors. His lung hadn’t collapsed; he had no bullet holes or broken ribs. He simply knew it was a hospital. And then…

 

He opened his eyes, and stared bleakly at the ceiling. He even knew what kind of hospital it was.

 

_I’m in the fucking madhouse._

He turned his head, and Benny was asleep in a chair by the window. His friend was wearing civvies, jeans and a leather jacket. He was looking pale himself, thinner than he had been, and surprisingly for Benny, had five o’clock shadow. The back of his right hand had a dressing on it. _‘Just a graze…’_ Ray blinked, and realised he was crying. His tears were getting lost in his beard.

 

He tried, he really did try to be quiet. His friend looked so exhausted and he didn’t want to wake him up, but… Ray pulled the pillow over his face to muffle his sobs, but his shoulders were shaking, and he could hear the bed rattle. And Benny, bat-eared Benny, heard him anyway.

 

“Ray,” he said, “Ray, Ray.” He was holding him again, like he had done after they’d struggled for the gun. Ray’s head was on his chest, and he could the solid _thump, thump_ of Benny’s heart.

 

“Oh God, I didn’t kill you. You’re not dead.”

 

Benny kept rocking and hugging him, saying his name. “Ray, Ray. It’s alright, Ray. I’m alright. You’re alright. You’re safe now.”

 

“I’m sorry, Benny,” Ray choked out. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know why I thought those things.”

 

And Benny would have made someone a great Pa. He didn’t shout, and didn’t call Ray a cry-baby or a Mama’s boy, or a fucking loser. He just held him tight, and let him cry.

~*~

 

He was still in Canada, which surprised him, somehow, but obviously the doctors wanted to get him stable before kicking him out of the country. They were Canadian doctors, after all. They didn’t just tip patients onto the street if they weren’t well yet… That wouldn’t have been polite. Even though he wasn’t a citizen, the Feds were footing the bill for him to stay here, so it wasn’t like he was robbing the Canadian taxpayers or anything. And it was a very good hospital. To be honest, sometimes it felt less like a hospital, and more like the world’s quietest, and most boring hotel.

 

The first few days were a jumble. Benny visited a lot, he knew that, and he remembered talking to Ma on the phone at one point. Either he was babbling and crying or she was. His doctor was with him at the time, and he remembered she was very kind. Just as he was forgetting how to form sentences, she took the phone off him – he couldn’t make out what the woman said, but whatever it was, he hoped it calmed Ma down. He wasn’t calm at all.

 

A few days later, he called Ma back. This time he knew it was a ‘planned’ call, that Ma was expecting him, that he had nothing to worry about because his doctor (whose name he couldn’t remember, though he thought it started with a K) would be with him. _What do I need a doctor for?_ he wondered. _I’m only calling my Ma._

 

The conversation started off innocently enough. A bit stilted, perhaps, but what did he expect? It was all going fine, till Ma started apologising.

 

“Ma, what are you sorry for? You didn’t do anything.”

 

And then… well, then, somehow that really upset her. He realised her voice was too bright and cheerful, and that she sounded like she had a stuffed nose. She must have been crying at some point, and was putting on a show for him. Before he knew it, they were apologising at each other like it was a new version of international Ping-Pong, and by the time he’d finished Ma was a barely coherent wreck. Like a selfish bastard, Ray hung up on her, panicking, thinking maybe he shoulda stayed crazy, living under a rock so that at least she wouldn’t have to talk to him. What kind of a son was he, making his mother cry every time he opened his damn mouth?

 

Ma had more sense than he did, thank God, and called straight back. Ray’s doctor talked to her on the phone, looked at Ray and made a little questioning gesture with her hand: _‘do you want to take this?’_ He pulled himself together, somehow, and this time managed not to fly off the handle or start blubbing.

 

Since then they’d spoken a few times a week (in ‘controlled’ conditions) with only minimal self-recriminations and declarations that they’d never do it again. Ray had absolutely no idea what Ma was feeling guilty about. She kept saying she should have realised something was wrong, as though it was her job to be psychic – “Ma, Ma, Ma… it wasn’t your fault.” Nothing he could say would persuade her, and he finally stopped trying to tell her she wasn’t to blame. Didn’t help, and only set them both off.

 

In comparison, the first conversation with Maria was fine – tearful, and apologetic, but not as bad as he expected. He honestly believed he was all cried out, until Maria put Frannie on the phone. The minute he heard his little sister’s voice, though, it hit him like a body slam – how she must have been feeling, for over a month, having read that damn letter.

 

“Ray?” Her voice sounded very young, and very far away. “How are you?”

 

“Frannie,” he managed to say, and then… it was worse than when he started talking to Ma. He just couldn’t stop crying.

 

His poor kid sister had been sitting around for weeks, knowing he thought she was a monster poisoning their family.

 

In the end, all he could manage to say was “Ti amo, Frannie, mi dispiace.” She started crying on the other end of the phone, and telling him that it was okay, which was a lie, and that she knew, she loved him too, which he hoped was true, though he didn’t deserve  it… And then he couldn’t speak anymore, so he handed the receiver to the doctor, and slid off his chair to hide behind his knees. When he’d got his breathing back under control he let one of the support nurses help him back to his room, so he could crawl into his nice, safe bed and hide.

 

After those first conversations though, things did get better. And they got better every day, although there was a setback when Ma declared she was coming up to see him. Ray panicked, and blurted out a string of nonsense, of which the only clear word was “no.”

 

“Don’t worry, Raimondo,” Ma said, sounding hurt. “We can afford it. We can…”

 

“Please, Ma,” he repeated. “No.”

 

And they were off again. Ma wondering what she’d done wrong that her son didn’t want to see her, him unable to explain how damn humiliated he was to be in here. Thank God for Canadian psychiatrists, or poor Benny would have had to be the one to explain. 

 

He’d been there nine days when his doctor mentioned, gently, that the Feds wanted to see him. He had guessed that was coming, and thought he’d be okay about it, but the minute the doctor said it, it was real. The next thing he knew he was crouched behind a chair, trying to hide, and screaming at the poor woman: “they can fuck the hell off, I am _not_ going back to Vegas, and if they ask me to kill anyone else I’ll tell everyone what they did to Mando and Chiara, and if those sons of bitches come after me, if they come after my family, if they come after Ma, I’m gonna kill ‘em, and they know I’ll do it, they know I’ll fucking do it, ’cause they know where the bones are, they saw what I did to people, and when I’ve finished with those fuckers I’ll kill myself, so they can leave me the fuck alone, and _stop it, don’t touch me, do not touch me, stop…”_ and he was crying like a child.

 

Once he’d been tranqued and carted back to bed, the nice Canadian doctor got on the phone, reminded the FBI whose country Ray was in, whose patient he was, and told them to back the hell off. Thank you kindly, Feebies, have a nice day. At least… he assumed that’s what happened. The Feds backed off, and he calmed down. That was the main thing.

 

His main contact with the outside world, for the first couple of weeks was Benny. He turned up every day for visiting hours, bearing messages from the outside world, and frequently donuts.

 

 “Where’s Dief?”

 

“He’s looking after your family – though I suspect they think it’s the other way round. Frankly, when I next see him, I don’t expect to recognise him, he’ll have eaten so much. Chicago makes him soft.”

 

Ray smiled at the normality of his friend grumbling about Dief. Things hadn’t been normal for a while. For a start, he learned that Benny had actually lied in order to get visiting rights on the first occasion. He’d told everyone he was Ray’s adopted brother, and got Ma on the phone to confirm the story. Then of course the Feds got involved, actually being helpful for once. The RCMP were given to understand that Benny was liaising with the FBI on a matter of top-secret international importance, need to know, yadda yadda yadda... Which was true when you thought about it, but in this case meant, Benny was babysitting some crazy guy. Ray knew he’d have to deal with the Feds eventually, they needed him for their case against the big bad mobsters, but right now, he didn’t have to think about it. He was just glad, even if he was behaving like a kid, that he got to hang out with Benny for a while.

 

“I can’t believe you lied,” Ray chuckled, as they walked around the hospital grounds. It was early afternoon, and a whole bunch of people were quietly circling what looked like a park.

 

“Well, Ray, normally of course I’d never countenance such a thing. But circumstances were desperate, and besides, it’s not really a lie, is it?” Benny blushed a little bit. “I mean, I do think of you as a brother.”

 

“Yeah,” Ray smiled back at him. “I get that. _Mio fratello sempre.”_ It was easier to say that mushy stuff in Italian.

 

When they got back to the dining area Ray propped his elbows on the table and his chin on his hands. He stared at his tomato soup, and tried to figure out how he was going to ask his next question. One of the other patients shuffled past (probably on a lot more dope than he was, from the looks of it) and tried to smile at him. Ray turned his gaze away. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to make eye contact with the other crazies, because some prejudiced part of him was still thinking, ‘I’m not like them.’

 

 _Yeah, right, detective,_ he thought, remembering his one-man personal crime wave. ~~~~

He looked at the shuffling fellow patient again. _You’re just like these poor bastards._ He made the effort, smiled back at her, then looked at Benny.

 

“You know, I didn’t really say sorry yet about Kowalski.”

 

“In what way?” Benny sounded suitably cautious.

 

 _Oh yeah,_ Ray thought. _A couple of weeks ago I was convinced Kowalski was some kinda pod person sent from planet ‘what-the-fuck’ to melt his brains. Jeez… he probably doesn’t know if I’m apologising for being a jerk, or apologising for not rescuing him from his robot-zombie prison guard._

 

“I mean, talking all that crap about him. You know, the stuff I thought.”

 

“Oh.” Benny looked relieved. “Well, no apologies necessary, Ray. You weren’t well.”

 

“I just wanted you to know that…” he trailed off. He wasn’t quite sure how to finish the sentence.

 

“What, Ray?”

 

“Just that… it wasn’t because you two are together. I mean, it was, kinda. But not because…” He felt the backs of his ears go hot. “Not because you’re like, guys together. Just because...” He stared at the fading scar on the back of Benny’s hand. It really had been just a graze. “I came back,” he blurted out, “and it was like he stole my life.” He lifted his head, and managed to look Benny in the eye, even though he was desperately ashamed. “I mean, when I was in Vegas – there was just so much... I mean, everything was wrong, and I…” He swallowed. “I missed you. And then I heard, they had some other guy being me, and it was like… I got back, and Vito didn’t even know I was his _nunc nunc_ anymore. He was calling some other guy Uncle Ray, and…”

 

“It’s alright, Ray, you don’t have to explain.”

 

“I do though.” Ray’s voice went sharp and angry, though not with Benny. He took a breath, and lowered his tone. “I mean, I gotta explain it, for me. I need to get this outta my head. It drove me crazy. Well, it was part of what drove me crazy.”

 

“Go on.”

 

Ray took in a deep breath. “The whole time I was in Vegas, I kept thinking, ‘what would Benny do,’ and every single time the answer was, ‘not this.’ I’d be shaking somebody down, or… or things.” He couldn’t bring himself to tell Benny what things. Okay, Benny’s naïve act didn’t fool him, he knew Benny probably guessed some of it. Hell, he’d have to have done by now. He was the Feds’ goddam babysitter. But Ray wasn’t going to talk to him about Skoulodis, or the Onofris, or Herzog or… or…

 

Not yet. Maybe not ever. He stared at his blood red soup.

 

“I’d be thinking of you, back in Chicago,” he started again. “You know, all righteous, and noble, and superman. And then they told me there was this other Ray Vecchio, and it was like I never happened. I was gone. Never been there. I was never anyone else, I’d only ever been Armando.”

 

“Ray,” Benny said gently. “You’re a completely different man from your brother.”

 

“What?” Ray jerked his head up, stared at his friend. “What did you say?”

 

“I’m sorry, Ray.” It was Benny’s turn to look embarrassed. “After you left so – unexpectedly, I took it upon myself to do some research of my own.”

 

“And you found out what Pa did,” Ray whispered.

 

“Yes,” Benny said. “And, I’m sorry.”

 

“Does anyone else know?”

 

“I think Lieutenant Welsh might know, but he’s never stated anything clearly. As far as I’m aware, nobody else knows.”

 

“Yeah. The Lieu knows.” Ray swallowed. “So, you know why I did it?”

 

“I was able to piece it together. You were trying to protect your mother.”

 

“Shit.” Ray stared at the soup, cooling in the bowl. “I can’t believe you know.”

 

“Does it help?” Benny looked at him, guardedly. “The Muldoon situation got so complicated, so quickly – we never really had a chance to talk. Does it help that I know? I was always going to talk to you about it. I just… somehow or other we never found the time.”

 

“I don’t know.” Ray stuck his spoon in his soup and stirred, idly. He’d never expected anyone to know, not someone who knew him as well as Benny did. “Maybe, when it’s sunk in. Can I ask you a question?”

 

“Yes, Ray.” Benny looked at him, with very patient eyes.

 

“Why did you go? I mean, that whole handjobby thing with Kowalski.” Ray heard what he’d said, and flushed as red at the soup. “I mean ‘Hand of Franklin’ thing.”

 

Benny smiled. “You mean our ‘Quest?’”

 

“Yeah. That. You know, I was in the hospital, and you just…” _God, I sound pathetic. I sound like a teenage girl, saying, ‘why don’t you want to be my friend anymore?’_

“I’m sorry, Ray. I mean – no. I’m not sorry. I had to stay in Canada, as you know – they hadn’t extradited Muldoon yet…”

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

“So,” Benny continued. “I really wasn’t allowed to leave the country. But I did still need to get away. And Ray… I mean, Stan, I mean… Good Lord, don’t tell him I called him Stan.” Benny looked startled. “He’d never forgive me.”

 

Ray laughed.

 

“Ray helped,” Benny admitted, “so much. I didn’t realise how much help I needed, but he was there. I’d just discovered my mother had been murdered…” the quiet voice faltered, and now Benny was the one playing with his soup. “When I remembered, it felt as if I should have known. I mean… I did know, almost.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I’m not explaining this very well.”

 

“No, I get what you’re saying.” Ray thought of all the times he didn’t think of Father Curry. That was nowhere near as bad as your mother being murdered. “Go on.”

 

“I was there at the time,” Benny said, calmly. “But, I was very small. And I made myself forget. I hadn’t looked after her, you see.”

 

“Oh, God, Benny.” Ray patted his friend’s shoulder, clumsily, feeling like the world’s biggest heel. “There I was, just thinking about me. I’m such an ass.” He shook his head, fiercely, before Benny could deny it. “So, Kowalski looked after you? He knew you needed the ‘Quest’ and that’s why you went?”

 

“Well, we both needed it, for different reasons.”

 

“You didn’t find that magical hand though, did you?”

 

“Well, uhm… oh dear. Not really.” Benny blushed and tugged his collar, and Ray turned his face away, trying not to smirk. _Innocent Mountie my ass._ “Mainly,” Benny said, when he’d recovered his composure, “we explored the scenery –”

 

“Such as it is,” Ray interrupted. Benny smiled, and continued.

 

“Such as it is. We did head off in Franklin’s last known direction, but it was more of an opportunity for Ray to learn how to handle the dogs. We had to stay in radio contact of course, so we could be airlifted out if they needed us for the case. And we spent a lot of time arguing about whose turn it was to boil water in the morning, and promising not to kill each other before we had to go back for any legal matters.”

 

Ray laughed. “And I bet you were very Canadian about it, and when you say ‘argued about whose turn it was to boil the water,’ you were really fighting about who got to be the martyr and set up the fire while the other one got an extra ten minutes in the sleeping bag?”

 

“Uhm… yes.”

 

“You’re gonna turn that man into a Canadian, Benny.”

 

“Well,” Benny gave a wistful little smile. “If it’s ever legal, I suppose.”

 

Ray raised his eyebrows, realising what Benny was hinting at. _That serious? Wow._ Not, of course, that Benny would ever give his heart and not mean it. “So, he’s good to you.” It was a statement, not a question.

 

“Very good,” Benny said, shyly.

 

“That’s all that matters then.” Ray sighed. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

 

“I am happy.” Benny agreed. Then he swallowed. “I wouldn’t have been, if anything had happened to you.”

 

“Jeez, we’re a pair of saps, aren’t we?”

 

“It would appear so.” Benny cleared his throat. “Ray, I have a suggestion to make.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I suggest we both shut up and eat this execrable soup before it gets any colder.”

 

“Yeah, Ma.” Ray rolled his eyes, grateful his friend had lightened the mood. “Eat, Benito, eat.”

~*~

 

A few days after that, the doctors decided he was well enough to send him to a hospital in Chicago.

 

The nice Canadian doctor, whose name he now remembered _(“call me Kate,”)_ was sitting in one comfortable easy chair, while he sat in the other. There was a little tray of cookies on the coffee table between them, and some decent coffee, so he was taking the opportunity to fatten himself up, and pretend he was having a normal chat, rather than his head shrunk.

 

When he’d got his head together enough to notice the world around him, he’d been kind of surprised that there wasn’t a couch, and that Kate didn’t sit behind a desk. Or wear glasses. Or tie her hair up in a bun. It was too pretty to put in a bun anyway – corkscrew curls, chocolaty red – not that he was telling Kate he liked her hair. It had been a while since he’d paid attention to whether women were pretty or not.

 

Kate was explaining the schedule by which he was going to get sprung. She said “schedule” the way Benny did, sort of French: ‘sheydyool.’ And she didn’t say ‘sprung.’ She said “reintegrated into the community.” Which made him feel like an arctic tern or something. _‘You can’t just return an animal to its native habitat,’_ Benny had said to him one time, when they were watching a nature documentary. It was that crappy television of Mr Mustafi’s, with no sound, so Benny took the opportunity to enthuse about what they were seeing. ‘ _You have to prepare a soft release if it is to survive the transition.’_

 

_‘Benny, that’s real interesting, but what do I need to know it for? When am I ever gonna release an animal back into the wild? I mean, apart from Dief. Come on, change the channel. I thought we were gonna watch the hockey.’_

 

He’d never thought he’d be the animal.

 

“We’ll see how you do as an overnight patient, visiting your family during the day. And then hopefully, over the next few weeks, you’ll be able to go home.”

 

God, he was going home. He knew for a fact that the curtains would be twitching every time the neighbours saw him in the street from now on. He felt his mouth go dry.

 

“You realise,” the psychiatrist said, “that you’ll find the change difficult at first? I understand that your,” she paused, trying to think of a way to mention the Feds that wouldn’t send him jabbering in corners, “your employers are going to have to start debriefing you again.”

 

Ray chuckled. It still tickled him that this poor woman, twenty odd years into her career, had come across the one patient who thought he was a superspy for the FBI, and actually was.

 

“Yeah,” he said. “I get that. They’ll probably be a bit more careful this time.” He paused. “Last time they just kept sticking me in rooms with a bunch of analysts, and they kept asking questions, and dumping info on me, and kinda –” He paused for a moment, trying to think what it had felt like. “You know, one of ‘em, one of the decent ones, back when I was in Vegas…” Kate already knew about Vegas, since he’d babbled about it, so it wasn’t like he was giving away any secrets, “she said to me the guys in charge were treating me like some kinda… high tech security thingy. Listening device or something. Like I was a thing, not a person.  And, she was right. I kinda forgot I was a person too. It was easier that way.”

 

Kate nodded sympathetically. “You dissociated. It’s common, when people are forced to do things completely contrary to their nature.”

 

“You sure it was contrary to my nature?” Ray swallowed. “I killed people. Not like – not like being a cop, and it’s in the line of duty. You know, the shooting team clears you, it was self-defence, or defence of some harmless citizen. It’s not good, no one wants it to happen – but sometimes it does, and you can live with it. That’s the job. But Vegas was different. It wasn’t line of duty. I mean, I didn’t just kill people. I…”

 

He stopped talking completely.

 

“If it was in your nature,” she said, gently, “you wouldn’t be upset about it. You wouldn’t have nightmares about it. And you wouldn’t have broken down.”

 

“So,” he said, changing the topic. “Going home.”

 

“Yes,” she said. “You’ll be out during the day, stay overnight at the hospital until they’re happy to release you to your family’s care.” She paused. “And, at some point in that process, you’ll be meeting up with your handler, a lawyer, and an FBI psychiatrist.” She looked at him, sympathetically. “Tell me if it’s too soon.”

 

“No, no. It’s fine. I’ll not scream and call ’em sons of bitches.”

 

She gave a tolerant smile. “You are allowed to think it, if it helps.”

 

Ray laughed. “Yeah, that’ll probably help.”

 

“Once you’re ready, obviously, you’ll be involved in helping them further build the case against the Iguana crime syndicate.”

 

“What do you mean ‘build the case’?” He glared at her. “What case? It’s over with.”

 

“We’ve talked about this before.” She looked at him closely. “Remember?”

 

He pressed his lips together, tight. He did remember… didn’t want to… didn’t remember. “I’m trying,” he gritted out. “I’m trying to remember.” She sighed.

 

“Sal Langoustini didn’t kill himself. He’s still incarcerated, and fighting his sentencing.”

 

Oh. Ray blinked. Shit – she had already told him that, hadn’t she? _I’m gonna have to go through all that legal shit again…_ No wonder he’d wished Sal dead.

 

There was more though. He narrowed his eyes, thinking. “Johnny didn’t recruit me against Zucko, did he?”

 

“No.” She smiled.

 

 “You mean I was staking Zuko out for nothing?”

 

“I’m afraid so.”

 

 _Holy shit._ “You mean the bastard’s clean?”

 

“I don’t know about that, but he’s not under investigation.”

 

“God. I’m such an idiot.” Ray covered his face. “Johnny hasn’t even been in the country for a year, has he?” Afghanistan – he thought she’d said Afghanistan.

 

“That’s right. You remember.” She sounded relieved.

 

“Yeah,” he stared at his hands. “Yeah. I remember. I’ll try to remember.”

 

“It’s a start.”

 

“Thank God you’re a doctor,” Ray laughed suddenly. “You’re kinda like a priest. You can’t tell anyone this crap can you?”

 

“No,” she said. “I can’t. And I won’t.”

 

He nodded. He believed her. He was getting less paranoid every day.

 

“Like I said, this will be very difficult. We’ll have to work out a relapse prevention plan, and you’ll have to be honest. At the first sign of any unusual thoughts – any of your hallucinations, paranoid beliefs, even something as insignificant as a change in sleeping patterns, you need to tell people –”

 

“Listen, about my hallucinations…”

 

“Yes, Ray?”

 

“Uhm…” Oh hell, he was gonna tell someone. “I’ve had them since long before this Fed thing. I mean, before that it was only one. It was my father. And, uhm. He just kinda disappeared. I haven’t seen him since Vegas.”

 

“That’s a good thing.”

 

“Yeah, well. Him I don’t miss.” Ray scratched his ear. “I kinda miss my brother.”

 

She nodded, thoughtfully. “If you saw your brother again, would you tell a doctor?”

 

He paused, a fraction too long. She sighed. “Well, maybe as a coping mechanism he helped while you were in Vegas, but he’d be a bad sign if he arrived now.”

 

“He’s never coming back.” Ray bit off the words. That was something he did know.

 

“And you regret that?”

 

He looked away.

 

“Well, all these are things you’ll have to discuss in therapy…” He rolled his eyes. “Ray,” she said, “I know how you feel about continuing therapy, but I assure you, it will be necessary, at least for some time.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. But I am feeling a lot better, and I promise not to go off my meds.”

 

“Good.” She looked stern. “And please remember, the situation was compounded by your alcoholism.” Ray winced at the word, then admitted it.

 

“Yeah. Benny told me about that. Psychosis, it can be a side effect.” Ray shifted, uneasily. “I gotta ask though,” _God, I don’t wanna hear the answer…_ “I’m not gonna be on these anti-thingummy whatsits for the rest of my life, am I?”

 

“Anti-psychotics. And, I’m sorry, Ray. I don’t know. I haven’t come across a case like yours. I really don’t know.”

 

 _Great._ Ray tried not to scowl, and failed.

 

“One can’t predict outcomes, and I don’t have enough information anyway. A lot of your files have been redacted. Based on what I’ve seen, I imagine you’ll need long term counselling for post-traumatic stress disorder – not just relating to your work, but also some childhood issues –”

 

“Hey, don’t go there,” Ray snapped, then pulled himself short. “Oh. I guess I just proved you got a point.”

 

Kate smiled, not condescendingly, which helped, and scruffed a bunch of curly hair up behind her ear. “That’s alright. All I can say for sure is that you have a lot of work to do. You’ll need to be careful, and you need to be aware of potential stressors. For example, at some stage Sal is going to lose his appeal, and you’ll have to face the reality that he’ll be executed for his crimes.”

 

Ray bit his lip and looked out the window. That was what started this whole thing – not thinking of Sal. “Oh shit,” he said, and held up a hand to stop her from talking. “Yeah,” he said, “yeah. That’s gonna be hard. ’Cause, he’s got great lawyers, but he’s gonna die. And I know he deserves it, and I don’t gotta problem with the death penalty, only…”

 

“Only what?”

 

“I really liked Sal,” he whispered.

 

She let him be silent for a while. Eventually he sat back and started talking again.

 

“Look, I know life is full of shit, and there’s always gonna be something that’s gonna stress me out. I just gotta learn to deal with it. Let people know I’m a freak, so they can look out for me.”

 

“You’re not a freak.”

 

Ray snorted.

 

“But you are right. Life is always full of events that can trigger relapse. You need to be prepared for that.”

 

“Yeah, I know.” Ray traced the scar on his left palm with the knuckle of his right thumb. “I think about it, you know. When…” One day Ma was going to die. People got sick, things went wrong… Maybe ten years from now, the bullet would shift in Benny’s back, and his friend would end up in a wheelchair. Something bad was gonna happen to someone. It always did… He shook his head, forced his thoughts away. _‘Deal with the sorrows of the day when the day comes.’ That’s what Nonna always said._ “But then, you know. At least now I know I’m loony toons. I can look out for it. I can let other people know what to look for, so I don’t crack up like that again.”

 

The doctor nodded with approval. “If it’s any consolation, you show a huge amount of insight, and that’s usually a very good sign. Some patients only have one psychotic incident in their lives, and never have a relapse.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Really. And, Mr Vecchio? You’re not loony toons.”

 

“If you say so.”

 

“I do.” She smiled. “And you have to believe me, I’m a doctor. So. Tomorrow, you’re going back to Chicago.”

 

“Yeah,” Ray said. There was a weird feeling in his chest, dizzy, somewhere between terror and hope. “Tomorrow I’m going home.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

Not only was Ray ready to go home, he _could_ go home. At last. Just as soon as he got through the formalities of his release from hospital. Benny had done his side of the deal – signing papers with Mountie aplomb, stating that Ray was under his care and protection. All Ray had to do was take his medicine. And that was going to be… humiliating. He thought he was ready for it, but when the moment came he froze, and started backing, literally, into a corner.

 

_It’s not that bad. Jeez, Vecchio, who’d have thought you were such a baby?_

 

Instead of sending him home with pills, the hospital had decided to stick a butt-load of thorazine in – well – his butt, which was meant to take care of him for the next few weeks.  

 

“Don’t worry, Ray,” the nurse tried to encourage him. “The doctor said that if you’re still doing well in a month you can switch to an oral dose.”

 

“I know what she said,” he barked. “I was in the room when she said it.” His hands were sweaty with nerves, and he was trying not to run out the door. “Seriously, do we have to do this? I mean, look at me, I’m fine.”

 

“Now, now,” the woman said, like he was a five year old at the dentist’s. “It won’t hurt a bit.”

 

“Can’t you put it in my arm instead?”

 

“You’re still too skinny for it to go in your shoulder. It needs a good body of muscle –” the nurse clacked her tongue condescendingly. “Come on, Ray. The doctor explained all this.”

 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he muttered. _I can’t believe I’m doing this._ Feeling sick, he dropped his pants.

 

“You realise if I was still crazy I’d take a hit out on you for even trying this,” he grumbled as he turned and presented his posterior. His stupid attempt at bravado just made the nurse smirk – to her he was a loony and she probably thought he meant it – so he turned his face away and pretended that he didn’t want to die of shame.

 

After that things moved very quickly. Benny had Ray’s suitcase, and met him in the lobby. For a minute Ray was confused – he’d arrived here with nothing, so how come he’d acquired a suitcase worth of belongings in the last month and something? Maybe the meds were kicking in, because he couldn’t figure out how to ask the question. Benny grinned, started talking some kinda nonsense, led him to an ass-ugly rental car, and they were off.

 

It was strange to be back in a vehicle. He sat in the passenger seat while Benny drove, which was pretty damn unusual. Once they were on the highway Benny stopped driving like a grandma, and actually put his foot down, which made Ray laugh. Okay, it still took them an hour to get from Selkirk to the airport, but for Benny that wasn’t so bad.

 

“I coulda done it in half the time,” Ray said, sleepily, because it wasn’t a road trip if they didn’t criticise each other’s driving.

 

“But you would have had to ignore the posted limits.”

 

“They’re suggestions, Benny.”

 

“Not in Canada.”

 

By the time they reached Chicago Ray was feeling woozy, pie-eyed and strange. Not nauseous, exactly, but he wished the ground would stay still. He’d slept on the plane, so that wasn’t too bad, but O’Hare itself was a nightmare. Benny had to hold his elbow to stop him from stumbling, and Ray was sure everyone was looking at him, thinking he was drunk. Just as well Benny had arranged transport, because no way they’d have got a cab with Ray stoned out of his skull.

 

“Not far now, Ray. The Consulate has sent a car for us. We’re nearly there.”

 

He had known all along that once they got to Chicago he and Benny were going to be sitting in the back of something, being driven around like a couple of gangsters, and he hadn’t been looking forward to it. Unfortunately, he hadn’t figured out how to explain that one yet, because his brain and tongue kept going to sleep. When he saw the damn thing though, he woke up, pulled away from Benny, and started running back to the airport. Benny caught up with him easily. He put his arms around his shoulders, and waited till Ray had stopped struggling, then guided him gently in the right direction.

 

“It’s alright, Ray. Come on, we’re nearly there.”

 

“Oh shit,” he heard himself mumbling. “A limo? Benny, can we just walk instead? I don’t wanna get in a limo.” But fortunately, he didn’t remember the rest of the journey, or even arriving at the hospital.

~*~

 

He must have slept from the moment his head hit the pillow, about six o’clock, till nine the following morning, when someone started making loud ‘ahem’ noises. Ray blinked his way awake and… damn. That nurse looked really pissed. The guy was shooting daggers at him and tapping his foot. Ray sat up, blearily. His eyes were itchy. _How the hell do you get itchy eyes?_ He felt more like a human being, at least, but he’d let his breakfast go cold, and he’d already pissed off this new guy. And shit, he didn’t like this new ward. He was sharing it with three other beds – which meant at some stage he was going to have ignore fellow patients. Damn.

 

“Get out of bed,” the nurse said. “I need to change the sheets.”

 

Ray grunted, and started trying to disentangle himself from his blanket. Impatiently, the nurse helped him up. “You have an appointment,” the guy told him, “with Doctor Connors.”

 

Ray had known he was going to meet her – Rose Connors, his FBI psychiatrist, but it still came as a shock. _Great start to the day. I’m hungry, stoned, not in a good way, this guy hates me, and I gotta meet a Feebie._ “Can I go back to bed?”

 

“No,” the nurse said, and pulled down the sheets.

 

Ray spent his first hour of therapy scowling at the psychiatrist, wondering was this it? He could just see it, having to spend the rest of his life letting the Feds crawl around inside his head.

 

“How are you feeling, Ray?”

 

“Paranoid,” he snapped.

 

“Honesty,” she said. “That’s good.”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

It went downhill from there.

 

When he got out of his session, he ambled to the cafeteria, thinking, _shit, now I know why us mad people shuffle._ He was feeling better today than he had yesterday, but he wasn’t used to that crap they had him on. His feet just did not want to leave the floor. “Don’t worry, Ray,” Connors said, when he’d complained about it. “Your medical status will change. You won’t always feel so numb. We’re taking precautionary measures, given the high stress situation that you’re returning too.”

 

Numb? He didn’t feel numb. He felt like a zombie-retard. Probably looked like one too. He was gonna be the world’s best patient from now on, do everything they asked, so they’d let him go on the lightest dose of whatever he could get away with.

 

 _At least,_ he thought, _this isn’t just a nut house._ It shouldn’t make a difference, but he was glad he was in the V.A hospital, not some loony bin. People wouldn’t automatically look at him and think he was crazy. _They probably think I’ve come back from doing something heroic in a war somewhere._ So, he felt like a bit of a phoney, but at least he didn’t cringe at everybody who walked past.

 

He was staring at a Styrofoam cup of coffee (either this place wasn’t as classy as the last one he’d stayed at, or they just didn’t trust him with anything he could break) when Ma sat beside him.

 

For a moment, he thought he’d started hallucinating again – he’d just looked at the clock to make sure it hadn’t stopped (it hadn’t: time was running slow) and realised he still had over an hour to go before she turned up with Benny. So what was she doing here now, and where was Benny, and why did she look so much older and littler than when he left?

 

“Raimondo?”

 

Her voice broke him out of it. That was definitely Ma.

 

It wasn’t as bad as the first time on the phone… she cried a lot more than he did, and he was grateful he was numb, but he held on to her tight, and told her everything was gonna be okay. He’d been listening to Benny after all, and that stuff had worked on him. When she’d stopped crying, he realised his face was wet after all, and her shoulder, where he’d rested his head on it, was damp. So, he mightn’t feel much, but at least his eyes were still working.

 

“I thought you were waiting till Benny had finished at the Consulate,” Ray said. His words were coming out slow, and a little bit slurry, but he was surprised how well he was putting them together. “How did you get here?”

 

“Tony drove.”

 

“Is he sitting outside now?”

 

“He’s driving Maria to the market. We used up all the eggs.”

 

“You ran out of a kitchen staple? Ma, what happened, end of the world? All the hens stopped laying?”

 

She smiled at his attempt at humour. “I brought you a few treats…”

 

Of course she had. She’d been up all night cooking for him. He would have told her that she shouldn’t have, but he knew she needed to.

 

She was opening one of her Tupperware thingies, and the custardy, orangey smell hit him with every happy childhood memory he’d ever had.

 

“Ma,” he blurted out before he could stop himself. “You shouldn’t have…”

 

“Yes I should,” she said, and smacked his fingers. “Wait till I’ve put them on a plate, _sciocchino.”_

 

No sooner did she have them on a plate than Ray was licking orange sauce off the crumbling pastry. Made from tissue-thin filo dough and filled with creamy custard, most people called it by its Greek name, _bougatsa._ To Ray, it was simply 'custardy joy.'"

 

 

One of the orderlies walked past and did a double take.

 

“I didn’t see those on the menu today. What is that?”

 

“Heaven in a box,” Ray said. “And you ain’t getting any.”

 

“Raimondo,” Ma said, pretending to be annoyed. “There’s plenty to go round. And I’ve brought lots of other things to share.”

 

By the time Benny arrived at the cafeteria, Ma was feeding not only Ray, but several others as well. There was the man in an orderly's white who may have been on his lunch break, but probably wasn't, and two women, one in street clothes, the other in a hospital gown and wheelchair, trailing an IV pole. Ma was in her element.

 

Benny kissed her hair. “I see you’re taking care of everyone, Sophia.”

 

Ma was looking happy, and Benny was looking proud. “I’m sorry,” he said to the assembled diners. “I have to take my family home now.”

~*~

  ~~~~

Benny had told him that Kowalski had been staying with his family, but when they drove up to the house on North Octavia, Ray felt an ugly fear twist in his heart, and then – pure fury when he saw the front door open, his sisters and Little Tony hovering anxiously in the doorway, with that imposter Kowalski right at their backs.

 

 _Not an imposter, God._ Ray bent forward, rested his head on the passenger seat. _Get your head on straight. He’s Benny’s boyfriend. Calm the fuck down._

 

Ma turned in the seat ahead of him, her voice concerned. “Raimondo, are you alright?”

 

“Yeah, Ma,” he lied. “Just gimme a minute… let ’em know I’ll be with ’em soon.” He peered up at her, and smiled, in an attempt at reassurance. “I just need a minute with Benny.” She nodded, and stepped out of the car, made her way across the street.

 

Benny reached back, put his hand on his shoulder. “Ray?”

 

“Sorry, sorry.” Ray was working very hard on being honest, and letting people know when he was having a freak-out moment – but it was still damn hard to say. “I just kinda saw your man there, and thought, ‘what’s the zombie freakazoid doing with my family?’”

 

“I assure you, Ray, Ray is not a zombie.”

 

Ray laughed. No wonder he was confused. “Yeah, well, neither of us is. It’s passed.”

 

“You do realise why he stayed here, don’t you?”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Benny had explained it. They’d thought that if Ray came home and he was still delusional, then seeing Dief might help calm him down, but if he was going to start accusing people of being doppelgangers, better Kowalski than Frannie. Besides which, the whole family was upset because of the stunt Ray pulled – and Kowalski had looked after them before.

 

“Sorry, Benny.” Ray put a smile on his face. “I was probably just pissed ’cause I’m not allowed to drive yet. I mean, come on, you did just drive us all the way across town like a little old lady.”

 

“Statistically, little old ladies are the safest drivers on the road…”

 

“Yeah. Great. Should a let Ma drive, she’s like whacky races next to you. And, you know why little old ladies don’t have accidents? It’s ’cause they piss the rest of us off enough that we end up having accidents instead.”

 

“Whatever you say, Ray… oh, look.” Benny’s voice brightened. “Diefenbaker has come to say hello.”

 

Ray turned and grinned at the shaggy head that was trying to poke its way through the gap at the top of the window. “Okay, furface, gimme a minute. I’m getting out now.”

 

Diefenbaker was all over him the moment he was out of the car, and between doggy breath and getting spit all over his face, Ray forgot to be nervous as he crossed the street to his waiting family.

 

“Hey, Ma,” he said, like he hadn’t seen her a minute ago. “Hey everyone.” And then he was getting hugged till it hurt, and he didn’t mind at all.

~*~

 

Ma let them eat dinner in the living room – which was practically unheard of, but meant that the family could have their regular loud screaming match of a Vecchio meal, while Ray ate quietly with Benny and, for the first time, Kowalski.

 

“So,” Ray said, looking at Benny’s boyfriend, uncomfortably. “I guess you heard I’m a psycho.”

 

“You seem okay to me,” Kowalski said, between mouthfuls of ziti. “I mean, when you think of it you didn’t crack up that bad.”

 

“Excuse me?” Ray’s voice went sarcastic, and he felt his blood pressure creep up a notch. 

 

“Well, okay,” Kowalski admitted. “You cracked like crazy cake, but it’s not that surprising after what the Feds did to you. You were gone a year, being that Langoustini creep, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, you musta been worried sick about your family. I mean, I miss ’em when I’m up in Canada, and I only known ’em a couple of years. You’ve gotta miss ’em more.”

 

“Oh.” Ray hadn’t thought of it like that.

 

“Remember you told me?” Kowalski waved his fork to underline his point. “‘Undercover’s lonely.’ Well, I know what that’s like. You get worried sick about all the bad things that could happen to ’em when you’re gone, and you ain’t there to protect ’em. So, me? I been there. It’s fucking awful… Hey, Ben, I’ll swear if I want to.”

 

Ray tried not to chuckle, and Kowalski was continuing. “Then, there’s you, you get back from the worst undercover gig ever, and the Feebies suck big balls –”

 

“Ray!” Benny choked on his food, and Kowalski pretended to glare at him.

 

“So Vecchio gets back, and the FBI are their usual professional selves.” He poked his tongue out. “Is that better, mother hen?”

 

“Much better,” Benny said, primly, even though he was doing that thing where he laughed behind his eyes.

 

Kowalski grinned and shovelled more ziti in his face. “God,” he said, turning back to Ray. “Your Ma can cook. Sorry, what was I saying – oh yeah. You got back, and when it was safe, it all got to you. I mean, if you’d cracked up in Vegas, you’d a been dead and doneski.”

 

Ray looked at Kowalski, with respect. The guy had the table manners of a pig, and hair like an electrocuted hedgehog, but he knew more about what was going on in Ray’s head than any damn psychiatrist he’d ever met.

 

“I suppose you have a point,” he said, slowly.

 

“Yeah,” Kowalski continued. “And you thought some terrible thing had happened to Frannie, and you hadn’t been able to save her. I mean, I don’t got a sister, unless you let me adopt yours. But that would be the worst thing, I think, if something happened to your kid sister.”

 

“Yeah,” Ray muttered, looking at his food. He wasn’t going to tell Kowalski, but he’d spent his whole damn life scared that something bad was going to happen to Frannie. First Pa, beating on her, then Frank Zuko putting it around the neighbourhood that his baby sister was trash (because Frannie  _wouldn’t_  go out with him – sick bastard) and every guy she ever met after that thinking she was a tramp. Her husband whaling on her within weeks of the ‘marriage,’ and how the gossips rolled their eyes and blamed her, a year later, when she filed for divorce.  _‘I’ll help you press charges,’_  Ray had told her.  _‘Leave it,’_  she’d snapped, and hid behind dark glasses.  _‘I’ve been humiliated enough as it is.’_

 

Nowadays, Frannie would be strong enough to press charges. Nowadays, she’d never have married the fucker in the first place.

 

“Ray,” Benny’s voice cut in on his thoughts. “If you keep staring at your food, Diefenbaker is going to think you’ve finished, and clean your plate.”

 

“Sorry, yeah. I gotta eat.” Ray’s appetite was a fragile thing at the moment, and he’d filled up on Ma’s pastries, but he knew he had to gain weight. And besides, Ma had gone for the most comforting meal she knew. He took a couple of bites, then paused. Sighed. “Listen,” he said, “Kowalski. I still feel like a dick for the things I said about you, and I probably always will feel like a dick about it. But, you know. Thanks. You looked after my family for me when I was undercover. And when I was… you know.” He blushed. “Away with the fairies.  You didn’t have to do that.”

 

“Well,” Kowalski scratched the back of his neck and looked uncomfortable. “They’re not my family, but I do care about them.”

 

“Hey, Stanley.” Kowalski looked at him, obviously trying to repress his irritation.  _Still on best behaviour for the crazy guy._  Ray grinned. “Sorry. Ray. Jeez, don’t get used to that, I’m not saying it every time. But, Ray? Thanks for looking after them. And thanks for looking after Benny. Okay?”

 

“Okay.” The guy was grinning, and Ray could see what Benny saw in him. He had a cheeky monkey vibe going – seemed kinda innocent when he wasn’t trying to be macho.

 

“And, just so you know,” Ray said, “they  _are_  your family. You’re kinda like my brother-in-law.” Benny and Kowalski beamed at each other, then at Ray, then blushed. Ray shook his head.  _Hopeless saps, all three of us._  “Come on, it’s not rocket science, guys. Even baby Vito knows you’re his _nunc-nunc.”_

 

“Jeez,” Kowalski looked stricken. “Yeah, I heard about that – it musta really sucked.”

 

“Hey, I wasn’t trying to get a dig in. I meant it. So, he forgot who I was for a while, now he’s got two Uncle Rays. There’s the good looking one, then there’s you.”

 

Kowalski rolled his eyes and took a swig of milk. “Shit, I got hiccups.”

 

“That’s what you get for talking with your mouth full, you uncouth bastard.”

 

“Ray!” Benny spluttered.  _You’re gonna have to get used to it,_  Ray thought, and smirked.  _Like one heart-to-heart is gonna stop us guys arguing…_

 

“S’okay, Fraser,” Kowalski said through his hiccups, and smiled. “Just as well Ma ain’t here, she’d be thumping me on the back about now.”

_He’s talking about my Ma,_  Ray thought, with a slight pang.  _He calls his own mother ‘Mum.’_

 

He paused, took a deep breath. Well, he’d told Kowalski he was family, and now wasn’t the time to be picky about who Ma decided to mother. It had been a whole year before she’d stopped trying to get Benny to call her Ma. Ray remembered the day Benny explained to her, politely, why he couldn’t. “I’m sorry, Sophia. I don’t mean to offend you, but I only had one mother, and I didn’t have her long.”

 

Kowalski had stopped hiccupping, and started talking again, this time not shoving food into his mouth. “Anyway, I guess what I’m trying to say is – Ben and me, we mightn’t know everything you been through, but – you know. You need someone. We’re here.”

 

Ray scratched his face, and didn’t know what to say – then Kowalski spoiled the moment by singing off key. “’Lean on me, when you’re not strong – you got somebody to leeeeean on.’”

 

“Ray,” Ben interjected, “those aren’t the actual lyrics.”

 

“That ain’t the actual tune,” Ray protested. Kowalski grin was feral as he carried on butchering the song.

 

“Stanley, if you don’t stop singing I’ll…”

 

“You’ll what?”

 

Ray flicked ziti at his new brother. “Stanley!”

 

“Style pig.”

 

Fraser sighed, and started singing. The proper lyrics and in tune. Obviously.

 

By the time Ma poked her head round the door to see what was going on, they were all singing.

 

“You boys doing okay?”

 

“Fine, Ma.” Ray realised to his surprise that he had finished his ziti. “We’re fine.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Good Lord, after a year it's finally over! There are so many people I have to thank, but right now I'm so exhausted that I'll just have to say you know who you are and what you did, there will be fuller thanks when I've got my head on straight. Particularly to Madame Mary who was my blind reader for volume four, and helped me work out the pacing for the reveals and plot beats.
> 
> But HUGE thanks to JDD, who has worked her guts out on this as my beta. Over two continents, while working, during vacations, in health and post surgery - there couldn't be a better beta. Thank you kindly.


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